Mrs. Maloney produced somewhat mountainous buttered toast, and a cup of what she called melted chicken tea for Basil.
"Great it should be," she said, stirring the weak-looking compound, "with every taste of me young Plymouth Rock in it, down to his yelly legs."
Basil gave it to Crabbit, and took tea instead.
Presently, when Darby went out, they sat silent, the noise of the sea crooning in through the windows, with the scent of violets strong in the sunshine. Mrs. Maloney's son grew them for sale.
"And you've forgiven me?" Gheena said at last jerkily.
Basil said that there was nothing to forgive. He scarcely recognized humbleness in one who had snubbed him for months.
"But if you hadn't misjudged me," he said, "I might have dared to ask you to—well, to use me as a buffer instead of Darby, and you'll be far happier with him when you're married—so it's as well."
The complete bleakness of Gheena's voice as she repeated the word married was too easy to understand; she repeated it almost angrily. Stafford said that engagements generally ended in marriages, and she would make Darby happy, for he loved her.
"Oh, yes, of course!" Gheena stood up. "I mean to end in marriage. I mean to. I would not hurt Darby."
There was a note of interrogation here mixed with defiant firmness.