“Well, I shall follow you some day, and I shouldn’t be surprised if I met—not Agatha—but——”
“Well?” asked Charlie, with an uncertain smile.
“Why, poor Miss Bushell!”
Charlie laughed and replaced his cigar.
“What are we standing still for?” he said.
“I don’t know. You stopped. She’d be such an ideal match for you.”
“Then I should never have done for you, Mrs. Marland.”
“My dear boy, I was married when you were still in Eton collars.”
They had completed the circuit of the garden, and now approached where Lady Merceron sat, enveloped in a shawl.
“Charlie!” she called. “Here’s a letter from Victor Button. He’s coming to-morrow.”