He laughed again, and asked, "When is the wedding to take place?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. How can you ask—now? Our trouble so new, still! And people cannot marry upon nothing."
"I'll have a talk with Nigel. Don't like affairs dragging on interminably. Sure to end by getting tired of one another."
Fulvia could have burst into tears; for there was an underlying consciousness which gave a keen edge to his words, but she only said, "A happy lookout for married life!"
"Oh, after you're married, it's different. Comes as a matter of course, then, to put up with what can't be helped. Tied together, and no escape, so no use to struggle. Well, I'll have a talk with Nigel, now we're in smooth waters again. See if I can't bring it about. Wouldn't need much additional, to set a young couple going."
"Uncle, please leave things alone; please do not interfere. Nigel will not like it."
"Not like it! Fudge! He may do without liking. Not like it, indeed. As if he didn't know me by this time! Don't be so squeamish, child; and don't take to looking cross. It doesn't suit you. I didn't ask your advice; don't need anybody's advice. We'll let that matter drop. I say—nothing ever come to light all these weeks about the lost postscript?"
"The lost postscript?" She spoke bewilderedly. The abrupt change of ideas brought a moment's confusion.
"Nigel's postscript—the fourth 'N.B.,' you know—ha, ha!—Sent to you and never found! Nothing heard of it all these weeks, hey?"
A vision of the past flashed up. Instantly Fulvia saw the crumpled slip of paper, hidden away in her dressing-box. Daisy's parting request was clear, with all that it involved.