Bill’s young face was that of a boy in love until one looked at it very closely, and then it was that of a man who has found security.
I have always had a fancy that Bill knew that evening which way Diamond Harter would eventually decide, but that he had consciously put the knowledge away from him, and was simply, as he had once said to Nancy Fazackerly, “so extraordinarily happy, in spite of it all.”
It was after three o’clock when the Kendals, who are generally the last to leave any entertainment, prepared to go home.
“I shall enjoy a drive in the moonlight,” said Mumma, pleasantly sentimental. “Don’t you think, Puppa dear, that a drive in the moonlight will be too delightful? It will remind us of our honeymoon days,” said Mumma, smiling delightfully.
Then a contretemps arose.
The car that had been hired to take old Carey and his daughter home had not appeared at the door, and Christopher, returning from the stable yard, reported the driver to be lying helplessly intoxicated in a corner of the old cowhouse.
Christopher said that the lad deserved instant dismissal and that he would make a point of seeing that he got it, but he had seized the opportunity of bringing round his own two-seater and was eager to take Nancy home in it.
“Oh, but Father—”
“I could easily come back for him.”