Haidee mused awhile, her brows knitted.
"And afterwards, Garry--when you have got Bran?"
"God knows, Haidee." He did not speak like a man who has won fame and renown and almost all he set out to get--except one small thing! But rather as one whose golden gifts have turned to ashes in the mouth, whose laurels have fallen to dust. Inspiration shot into Haidee's eyes.
"Then you haven't got a wife at all, Garry?"
"Devil a wife!"
"Then I don't see why I can't marry you at last. I 've always wanted to."
Westenra began to laugh.
"There's nothing to laugh at. Lots of girls marry their guardians. Oh, do let me marry you, Garry. I do love you so."
"Dear Silly Billy, I couldn't possibly."
"Why not? Why not? How can I come back to America with you and Bran unless I am married to you? It would not be at all correct." (Haidee had not been brought up in conventional France for nothing!) Westenra grinned sardonically.