"He promised to show me the poems," said Margaret. "But Guy doesn't like me any more."
"Oh, yes, Margaret, he does. Oh, Margaret, he really does. And if you say that, I shall have to break a secret. He's written two poems about you."
Margaret flushed.
"Has he? Well, he must certainly show them to me first or I shall veto the publication."
"Oh, darlings," Pauline cried. "I am happy to-night! The famousness of Guy presently ... and oh, I forgot to tell you something so touching that happened this morning. What do you think? Miss Verney consulted me as to whether I thought it was time she began to wear caps."
"Guy ought to write a poem about that," said Monica.
"Oh, no, Monica, you're not to laugh at poor Miss Verney. I must tell her to-morrow morning about Guy's book. She so appreciates greatness."
It was a delightful evening, and Pauline in her contentment felt that she was back in the heart of that old Rectory life, so far did the confidence in Guy's justification of himself enable her to leave behind the shadows of the past two months, and most of all those miserable escapades in the watery December moonlight.
"A book, dear me, how important," said Miss Verney, when next morning Pauline was telling her the news. "Quite an important event for Wychford, I'm sure. I must write to the Stores and order a copy at once ... or perhaps, as a local celebrity ... yes, I think, it would be kinder to patronize our Wychford stationer."
"But, Miss Verney, it's not published yet, you know. We expect it won't be published before March at the earliest."