Dodo grew a trifle impatient.
"Ah, that's a twice-told tale," she said. "I consider I have done my duty admirably, but just now I confess I am pining for a little amusement. I have been awfully dull. You know one can't exist on pure love."
Mrs. Vivian rose to go.
"Well, I must be off," she said. "Good-night, Dodo; and remember this, if ever anything occurs on which you want advice or counsel, come to me for it. You know I have been through all this; and—and remember Lord Chesterford loves you very deeply."
Dodo looked up inquiringly.
"Yes, of course, I know that," she said, "and we get on magnificently together. In any case I should always ask you for advice. You know I used to be rather afraid of you."
Mrs. Vivian stood looking out of the window. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.
"Ah, my dear, don't be afraid of me," she said.
Dodo wondered, when she had gone, what made her so suddenly grave. Her own horizon was singularly free from clouds. She had been through an experience which she had looked forward to with something like dread. But that was over; she and the baby were both alive and well. Chesterford was more devoted than ever, and she?—well, she was thoroughly satisfied. And Jack had come back, and all was going delightfully.
"They all talk about love as if it were something very dreadful," she thought. "I'm sure it isn't dreadful at all. It is rather a bore sometimes; at least one can have enough of it, but that is a fault on the right side."