"Quite sure," said Scott, with decision.
Dinah threw him a sudden, flashing glance of indignation. "Then she was a donkey, Scott, a fool—an idiot!" she declared, with trembling vehemence. "I'd like—oh, how I'd like—to tell her so."
Scott was smiling, his own, whimsical smile. "Yes, wouldn't you?" he said. "And it's awfully nice of you to say so. But do you know, you're quite wrong. She wasn't any of those things. On the other hand, I was all three. But where's the use of talking? It's over, and a good thing too!"
Dinah slipped a quivering hand over his. "We'll always be friends, won't we, Scott?" she said tremulously.
"Always," said Scott.
She squeezed his hand hard, and in response his fingers pressed her arm.
His steady eyes looked straight into hers.
And in the silence, there came to Dinah a queer stirring of uncertainty,—the uncertainty of one who just begins to suspect that he is on the wrong road.
The moment passed, and they talked again of lighter things, but the mood of irresponsible light-heartedness had gone. When they finally left the Dower House, Dinah felt that she trod the earth once more.
"I shall come and see you very often when we come back," she said rather wistfully. "I hope Eustace won't want to be away a very long time."
"Aren't you looking forward to your honeymoon?" asked Scott.