"Then I've something to thank him for too."
"Tom," she said, "I don't know what I said to you. I—I was jealous of Maggie Dennison."
It was later by an hour when Tom Loring took his way, not to his rooms for a bag, but straight to Curzon Street. Adela had consented not to wait ("In one's eleventh season one does not want to wait," she said), and Tom considered that it was now hardly worth while to move. So he broke into Harry Dennison's study with a radiant face, crying,
"Harry, I'm not coming to you after all, old fellow."
Harry started up in dismay, but a short explanation turned his sorrow into rejoicing. Again and again he shook Tom's hand, telling him that the man who won a good wife won the greatest treasure earth could offer—and (he added) "by Jove, Tom, I believe the best chance of heaven too," and Tom gripped Harry's hand and cleared his own throat. Then they both felt very much ashamed, and, by way of forgetting this deplorable outburst of emotion (which Tom felt was quite un-English, and smacked indeed of Mrs. Cormack), agreed to go upstairs and announce the news to Maggie.
"She'll be delighted," said Harry.
Tom followed him upstairs to the drawing-room. Mrs. Dennison was sitting by the fire, doing nothing. But she sprang up when they came in, and advanced to meet Tom. He also felt like an ill-used subject as she gave him her hand and said,
"How forgiving you are, Tom!"
He looked in her face, and found her smiling under sad eyes. And he muttered some confused words about "all that" not mattering "tuppence." And indeed Mrs. Dennison seemed content to take the same view, for she smiled again and said,
"Ah, well, there's an end of it, anyhow."