Anstice moved away. For the next few days she was much engrossed with her party, but she did not neglect the children, and though their hour after tea with her had to be given up for the time, she never missed visiting them at bedtime. Colonel Dermot inveigled her out for one or two walks with him, and Justin would look at him with an amused look in his eyes, when he began to sound his wife's praises.
"You don't appreciate her, she's one in a thousand."
"I am not a jealous husband," said Justin. "I feel flattered that you should admire her so. It shows my good taste."
They were alone together over the smoking-room fire. The Colonel looked at his friend in silence for a moment.
"No, you are not jealous, you are too cold-blooded, old chap. Jealousy follows love."
"I don't know about that," said Justin. "My wife inspires me with such confidence that I know nothing on earth would make her act in any way to warrant jealousy on my part."
"You are right there."
Colonel Dermot spoke heartily, but conscience gave him a prick or two. He had desperately tried to come to closer quarters than Anstice would permit. He knew that as her husband's friend and Ruffie's godfather, she welcomed and liked him, nothing more. She had shown him unmistakably that she wanted no sympathy for herself and no admiration. She was content with ordinary friendship.
When the house-party broke up, Anstice felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She was standing on the terrace waving farewell to the last of her guests when Justin joined her.
"Well," he said, "it's over. I really think we can congratulate ourselves upon having got through it remarkably well. I'm thankful to be quiet again for a bit."