"Yes."
"But I say, Marjie, I always thought—" Harry hesitated. "Mr. Dalrymple's wish—"
This was the first thought which occurred to every one who knew Mr. Dalrymple. The marvel was that he had never divulged it to Hermione herself.
"I say!" reiterated Harry, in blank boyish astonishment.
"He was married abroad nearly a month ago. He had not written beforehand, and he came home on that account to tell them here."
A curious revulsion of ideas was going on in Harry's mind, a revulsion the nature of which was not distinct even to himself. He sat staring at Marjory with those big grey eyes of his. "Then—Hermione—" he uttered.
"Hermione only cared that Mr. Dalrymple was not told, because it was a slight to him. Otherwise she would have been delighted. She told me so herself."
"And she will live with them?"
"My father does not know what else she can do, and Harvey expects it. But we want her to spend a quiet month with us first, to get over the shock."
Harry sank into a dream, making no response. Marjory had her own theory as to the subject of his dream.