"I've learned a lot of things this last week, Lionel," she said, "and I didn't get them all out of Mrs. Beeton's Family Cookery Book. One is that the best imitation of happiness consists in——"
"Oh, come, I say," interrupted Lionel.
"In self-forgetfulness," continued Kate. "And the best receipt for forgetfulness is good, hard work."
Lionel gave her a stare of glassy bewilderment. "I may be a silly ass, I've been told so often enough by chaps who ought to know, but I'm dashed if I see what you want with imitation happiness. There's no imitation about you, Kate." He looked down. There was something he had to say and every meeting of their eyes made it harder. "Either you'll be happy or you won't be happy," he went on. "Whichever it is, it won't be an imitation. It will be the real thing and I hope—I hope——" He took a long breath, as if to pull himself together, and hurried on, still without looking at her. "It may sound a bit thick from a chap feeling the way I do, but I mean it, upon my word, I do. I hope you'll be happy, Kate, I hope to God he'll make you happy."
The countess was leaning back against the rustic doorway and her two bare arms made a glowing worshipful "V" as they flowed downward, with the gentle undulation of her body, to the slender link of her drooping hands.
On the third finger of her left hand Lionel now saw for the first time, what at first he took for a plain gold ring, but a second look discovered a widening at one side that betrayed a setting of some sort turned inward for concealment. As he looked up, Lionel knew by the quick tightening of her mouth that Kate had been smiling, yet, in her eyes, there was something very far from laughter.
"Why didn't you tell me, Kate?"
She put her hands behind her.
"Tell you what?"
"That it was all settled—your engagement, I mean."