"But—but—you see," the young baronet continued, one arm still held possessively about his fiancée's waist, "while we're delighted that you should know, we aren't quite ready to tell society in general."
"I understand perfectly. Rely on me to preserve your confidence. I think it is positively lovely."
"Yes, isn't it?" said Rosamond. "Caryll and I were made for one another. You do understand, don't you, dear Mrs. Archdeacon?"
"Perfectly," repeated Cecile. "By the bye, dear, the car has been waiting for you this half hour. If you've changed your mind—"
Rosamond shook her head vigorously. "Oh, but I haven't," she returned. Then she said to Caryll: "I'm going over to the Manse, at Ranleigh Copse, for a couple of days. If you'd care to ride over to-morrow—"
"Care to?" he murmured. "How can I wait until to-morrow? Suppose I run over with you now, just to see you safely there."
"Won't you be late getting back to dinner?" asked the chatelaine of Carfen House. "The countess might, you know, be annoyed."
Carleigh smiled. "As the earl has failed to fit me with pumps," he said, "I consider myself excusable. Would you mind explaining for me, my dear Cecile?"
Of course he drove over to the Manse with Rosamond. Nothing in the world could have held him back just then.
And on the way he told her of how nearly he had lost his life in the fire and of how her face had come before him in what he believed was his last moment.