Cicely gazed incredulously at her mother. Slowly, incredulity vanished. The familiar figure of Brian took its place. He stood between her and happiness. He had been resurrected from the dead for this one inflexible purpose. Then he, too, melted away, and she beheld Upworthy, the village with its pretty thatched cottages, the rich pastures, and beyond them the woods and uplands—an Arcadian paradise out of which Brian was driving her——
Lastly, she perceived her cousin George, lord of this goodly manor. She had never liked George. And he was one of the “Indispensables” at the War Office, a-glitter with decorations not earned upon the field of battle. The last time she had talked to George, he had held forth prosingly upon the good old days before the war. Whatever happened, George would “carry on” in the easy grooves, and be more concerned about breeding pheasants than the housing of peasants——
Her mind cleared as she glanced at Grimshaw. Here stood the flesh-and-blood reality, the man of her choice. Their eyes met, flashing. Each disdained Cupid’s adventitious lures and guiles. He seemed to be saying: “Read me! Look well before you leap!”
Accordingly, she looked deep into a mind and heart open for her inspection. Then she leapt without fear.
“If I have to choose between Upworthy and my lover, I take him.”
With a noble gesture she held out her hand. Grimshaw took it, holding it tenderly.
“I am the proudest and happiest man in the kingdom.”
Lady Selina, not untouched, and sensible, perhaps, that duty was goading her on along the appointed path, observed judicially:
“I have spoken for my dead son, you understand?”
“But not his last word?” said Grimshaw.