"Oh, no, she isn't. However, M. l'Ambassadeur, you have fulfilled your mission, so be content."
Tommy paused in his task of biting into a piece of cake and looked up at her. "Then—you will?"
"No, dear; I most certainly won't. But don't you bother about that. I like this very well, and after all it isn't for long."
"Oh. You mean you are going to marry Théo. When?"
"In October, probably. Nothing is settled. More jam?"
"No, thanks. I say, Bicky, what are you going to do in September?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because they are all going to Là-bas, to the Golden Wedding. They were talking about it the other day. Are you going, too?"
She shook her head. "Oh, no. But I daresay I shall be with the Lenskys then. I can't go now, because one of the children is ill."
Tommy rose and looked at his watch, a shadow of his former proud manner settling on him as he put on his gloves. "She will be very much disappointed," he remarked, "but I don't see how she can forbid my coming here now, do you?"