"That's a fib; I saw you kiss Mary."

"Gracious! When?"

"Have you been so much in the habit of kissing Mary that you need ask when?"

"If by Mary you mean Miss Carmichael, I don't remember to have ever kissed her once."

"Well, I remember. And let me tell you something, sir: there have been times when--I've been jealous of Mary."

"Good gracious me! what an extraordinary child! Miss Carmichael's sole recommendation to me has been that she's your friend; besides, hasn't Tom an eye on her?"

"Oh, Tom! Tom never would see anything--like that; but I see.

Honestly, don't you think Mary's very pretty?"

"She's not bad, in a way; but she's not to be compared with you."

"That she certainly isn't; you don't imagine that you can make me believe that I'm--a tenth part as pretty as Mary? Do you take me for a perfect goose?"

"Stella, do you remember what you said before dinner about the ring.

You said--I don't know if you meant it."

"I meant every word I said, Rodney."

"Well, sweetheart, you said it was the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. Just as you said that, and meant it, I say and mean that you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen; and, to me, you will be the most beautiful girl, as long as I live."

"Do you really mean that? Really?"

"By the time we're--Darby and Joan, you'll know I mean it. Now, young woman, I'm as one who speaks with authority. I'm authorised to inform you that if you will stand with me at the altar inside a month you will make your mother happy and your father happy, to say nothing of me. So which day next month is it to be? Shall I put it at the first?"

"Who told you to say that?"

"Your own father, this morning as ever was."

"Was--was the idea yours or his?"

"My very dearest--small one----"

"I'm not so small as all that! You're not to call me small!"

"Well, all-that-my-heart-desireth, which you are, I will tell you with such precision as is in me. I said to him: 'I want her! I do want her!

Oh, I want her badly! But, if I have to earn her, I'll have to wait for her, I dare not think how long.' Then he said to me--exactly what I've told you; and my heart sang. Do you doubt? Ask him! To me the point is: shall we say the first?"

"Rodney, do try to be sensible! You're a man, and you can't understand."

"Is that so? So long as you do."

"To a girl her wedding day is the day of her life."

"Some girls manage to have several wedding days, so I suppose they have two or three days in their lives."

"There will be only one wedding day in my life. Whatever happens I want that to be, in every sense, a wonderful day; I want mine to be a pretty wedding."

"With you as bride that's a.s.sured."

"A really pretty wedding can't be arranged at a moment's notice; it takes time."

"Half an hour--or three-quarters?"

"Don't be so silly! Mamma's coming up to town to-morrow. I'll consult her; then I shall have some idea how long a time it will take."

"You mean how short a time! Do mean how short a time!"

"Well, how short a time. Rodney, how many bridesmaids would you like me to have?"

"Bridesmaids? My dear! What are bridesmaids to me, so long as I've the bride? All--all--all I'm going to be married to is the bride!"

"You are--a perfect----"

"Yes? A perfect--what?"

"Oh, I don't know! Rodney?"

She hid her face upon his shoulder.

"I always wondered what there was in a kiss to make a fuss about.

Now--I know."

When he left it had been practically settled that the wedding should take place on the earliest possible day of the ensuing month.

He walked home, by way of Kensington High Street and the Park. And as he walked he mused, and more than once his musings moved him to something very much like laughter, out there in the solitude and the dark. Was ever man before in such a complication--promised at three weddings as bridegroom? As he tried to puzzle out how it all had come about it struck him as quite inconceivably comical. If he told the story to the ladies themselves they could scarcely fail to see how funny it was--at least, he hoped they would. The position would be simple enough if, as is still the custom in some of the more civilised countries of the world, a man could have wives galore. But if it came to choosing, why, there would be the rub. Mabel had her points; who knew it better than he? While as for Stella, he had never dreamed she was so charming. With her kisses still on his lips, her soft voice still in his ears, her pretty eyes still looking into his, how could he help but love her! Dear little Stella! A week all alone with her, even a fortnight--he would like to have the chance of it. Perhaps, after a fortnight, a little relaxation might be desirable, a sort of change of air. But why look so far ahead? Then there was Mary--but he dare not think of Mary Carmichael, even then. If he had ten thousand a year, and freedom, he would choose Mary Carmichael before all the girls he had ever met. But that was out of the question; he had better put her out of his mind. Things were already sufficiently complicated without adding her. On the whole, the circ.u.mstances being what they were, considering the position with the judicial calmness which was becoming, he plumped for Gladys; and--the business in St. Paul's Churchyard. Gladys Patterson should be his wife; yes, she should be his wife, on all accounts; on all!--if--if it was not necessary to take a voyage to foreign parts.

In that room on the second floor of the house in Kensington, Stella Austin, in her nightdress, her pretty hair hanging in two long plaits down her back, was on her knees beside her bed, seeming such a child.

She was thanking G.o.d for all His goodness to her--she always began her prayers by thanking G.o.d. She thanked Him for many things, but chiefly, and beyond all else, for having given her so thoughtful, so tender, so true a lover. G.o.d knew how happy He had made her, and how full her heart was of grat.i.tude to Him. And she prayed that G.o.d would make her worthy of the lover He had given. She knew how, in so many ways, he was above her, above anything she might ever hope to be; she prayed G.o.d that He would give her strength and grace, so that she might be at least a little more deserving. She had been unkind to-night, and--and wickedly jealous; she knew she had. Please G.o.d make her kinder and less selfish! And, when the time came, please G.o.d, make her a good wife, a good wife!

At this point articulate utterance ceased, her face fell forward on the coverlet because her eyes were streaming with tears. It was to her such a solemn and beautiful thought that she would before very long be Rodney Elmore's wife that she trembled with the very rapture of it, so that she could no longer even go on with her prayers.

When Mr. Elmore reached his lodgings, with the exception of the light in his sitting-room, the house was in darkness. But if that signified that the household had retired to rest, it did not follow that everyone was asleep, as he was presently to learn. He had only been in his room a couple of minutes when the door opened noiselessly--to admit Miss Joyce. Coming right in, she stood with her back to the door, which she closed behind her. She was in a state of undress which did not become her ill. As he eyed her Rodney compared her, mentally, with Stella; not to her disadvantage. She really was a good-looking girl; only--he did not like the look which was on her white face and in her eyes. He felt sure someone would notice it, and questions would be asked.

She spoke in so faint a whisper that what she said was only just audible; his voice was lowered in sympathy with hers.

"Mother's come back."

"Has she? That's good hearing. I hope she had a good time at your aunt's."

"I've got the licence."