The door opened, and a little group of people entered the room—Lady Kirwan, Sir Augustus, Marjorie, and with them Joseph himself.
No one spoke for a moment. The new-comers all saw that the lovers were sitting hand in hand, that a declaration had been made.
Then pretty Marjorie, regardless of form or ceremony or the presence of the rest, ran to her cousin, put her arms round her neck, and kissed her.
"Oh, you dear darling!" she said; "I am so glad—oh, so, so happy!"
It was most prettily and spontaneously done. Nothing could have been more natural, charming or welcome.
There were tears in Sir Augustus' eyes, as that genial, kind-hearted worldling held out his hand to Sir Thomas Ducaine.
"I congratulate you, my dear boy," he said heartily. "I see how it is with my dear niece and you. I love Mary like a daughter, and there are few people to whom I would rather trust her than to you. God bless you both! Mary, love, come and kiss your uncle."
There was a hum of excited, happy talk, and then Sir Augustus, a man who had had always a great sense of "celebrating" events by some time-honored ceremony, suddenly said:
"Now we'll have a drink out of the loving-cup to Mary and Sir Thomas."
Nobody there wanted wine, but no one liked to baulk the genial and excited old gentleman. But, just as he was about to press the bell and give the order, Sir Augustus suddenly paused. He looked at Joseph, for whom, by this time, he had acquired considerable regard, not unmixed with fear, though quite destitute of any real understanding of him.