"But you will, won't you?" she cried. "Oh, Oliver, you will marry me?"
At about this time Mrs. Walbridge and Sir John Barclay sat together in the girls' room. Mrs. Walbridge's eyes, strangely youthful-looking, fixed thoughtfully on her companion. They had had a long talk, and now, at the end of it, she put a question to him.
"But you," she said gently, "are you sure you will not be unhappy, John?"
And he said, his grave face full of serenity, "Yes. I have always known that I was too old for her, you know, Violet—I suppose I may call you Violet now?"
In the moonlight her little blush gave her face a marvellous look of girlishness, and his eyes shone as he looked at her.
"Your—your divorce case is on for Wednesday, isn't it," he asked after a little pause.
"Yes. I suppose they will be married in six months time? Oh, John, I hope so—poor Ferdie, he—he doesn't bear trouble very well. I do hope it will be all right."
They talked on, and he told her that he should not stay long in South America, that in November he would come back to London for good.
"Oh, I am so glad," she answered. "I am very glad. For I shall be a little lonely later on. Griselda will go very soon, and Paul really cares for little Jenny, and I hope—of course I shall have Guy for a while—I must tell you about Guy, John—the war has—taught him such a lot. He is changed enormously. Do you know, he and I are better friends than I have ever been with any of the others? I am so thankful—but still, he is young, and of course will be full of his own interests, and I shall be glad to have you near—one of my own age—but will you like living always in London?"