“She is engaged, but will not be married till she is of age. That will be in rather more than a year.”
“And what will Mrs. Clarendon do then?”
He paused a moment before answering. But at length:
“She has promised to be my wife.”
“Bernard!”
Mary threw her work down, and came and kissed his forehead. She could say nothing; stricken with wonder and confused emotions of pleasure, she strove to realise the truth of what he had told her. Then Kingcote took from his pocket the case in which he kept Isabel’s portrait. Mary gazed at it in long silence.
“But how strange!” she murmured, when she turned her eyes away to dream absently.
“You think she might have made a better choice.”
“I have no such thought, Bernard, as you know well. Is it known to her friends?”
“No,” he replied, shortly.