"We are all selfish," Josephine murmured. "Life closes in around us, and we are mostly concerned with what may happen in our own time. I think that for as long as we live, peace is assured."
"I am sure I hope so," Sarah declared. "I should hate Jimmy to have to go and fight again."
"What sort of a husband does he make?" Wingate enquired.
"Wonderful!" Sarah acknowledged with emphasis. "He has developed gifts of which I had not the slightest apprehension. Of course, Josephine would scratch me if I ventured upon such a thing as comparison,-so I'll be content with saying that I think we are both very happy women."
Josephine laughed gaily. The almost peachlike bloom of girlhood had come back to her cheeks. She wore a rope of pearls, her husband's wedding gift, which had belonged to an Empress, and her white gown was the chef d'oeuvre of a great French artiste's most wonderful season. She looked across the table. How was it, she wondered, with a little glad thrill, that the eyes for which she sought seemed always waiting for hers.
"We are very lucky women," she said simply.
Phipps bit the end off his cigar a little savagely. He had been casting longing glances towards the table in the centre of the room, with its brilliant company.
"So that is the end of my duel with Wingate," he muttered. "I wonder whether it would be worth while."
"Whether what would be worth while?" his nephew asked.
Phipps made no direct reply. He rose instead to his feet.