"I don't know. And Hilda and Carol—Carol Gouverneur, you know—engaged. She has wanted him a long time. Everybody thought he'd wiggle out of it somehow, but he didn't or couldn't or something."
He smiled. "Cupid has had a busy summer."
"Oh, yes, quite extraordinary. You see out of all that house party, there are only three or four left." She spoke of this wholesale selection and apportionment as though her topic had been apples.
"Indeed?" Markham stopped smoking. "Who else?" he asked calmly.
"Me," she said blushing prettily. "I mean I—I and Reggie—"
"Reginald Armistead! I thought that he and Miss Challoner—"
"Oh, that's all off," she laughed. "They didn't really care for each other at all—not that way—just as friends you know. Hermia is a good deal like a fellow. Reggie liked her that way. They were pals—had been from childhood, but then one doesn't marry one's pal."
"I'm very glad," said Markham politely, examining her with a new interest. "I shall make it a point at once to offer him my congratulations. I like him."
"He's adorable, isn't he? But I'm horribly frightened about him. He's so dreadfully reckless—flying, I mean. If it hadn't been for Hermia, I'm sure he never would have begun it. But he has promised me to give it up—now. Hermia may break her neck if she likes; that's Mr. Morehouse's affair, but—"
"Morehouse!" Markham broke in, wide-eyed.