"Am I de trop, or do I count among the 'best friends'?" he asked.
Stafford nodded, but he did not meet the quizzical eyes which studied his face. He was still looking at Lois.
"Please remain," he said. "I wish you to know—and Miss Cary wishes you to know also."
"Miss Cary?" It was the Colonel's turn to speak. His veined hand rested clenched on the verandah balustrade, and there was a sudden sternness in his attitude and voice which filled the atmosphere with an electric suspense. "What has Miss Cary to do with the matter?"
"Everything. Miss Cary has consented to become my wife."
[Illustration: "Miss Cary has consented to become my wife.">[
He was not looking at Lois now, but at the Colonel, and then afterward at Travers. The latter had turned away and was gazing out over the garden, his arms folded over his broad, powerful chest. His silence was pointed, brutally significant. It threatened to force an explanation which each present was ready to give his life to avoid. The Colonel, Mrs. Carmichael, Stafford himself, each thought of Lois in that brief silence, and each after his own character acted in obedience to the instinctive desire to protect and uphold her. No one looked at her. It was as though they were afraid to read a pitiful self-betrayal on her young, mobile features, and with a fierce attempt at composure the Colonel turned to Stafford. He meant to break the icy threatening silence with the first commonplace which occurred to him, and at the bottom of his heart he cursed Travers for his attitude of unconcealed scorn. The next instant, the clumsy words which he had gathered together in his rage and distress were checked by Lois herself. She advanced to Stafford with outstretched hand, her face grave but absolutely composed.
"I congratulate you," she said. "I hope you will be very happy."
That was all, but it sufficed to break the spell which held them bound. The Colonel's commonplace passed unnoticed, and Mrs. Carmichael murmured inaudibly. Only Travers remained silent, immovable.
"Thank you," Stafford said. He had taken Lois' hand without hesitation and the painful uneasiness which had at first marked his manner had given place to a certain grave, decided dignity. "Thank you," he repeated. "I hope we shall be happy. In the meantime, I must ask you to keep our engagement private. My future wife wishes it for the present—only you were to be told. So much I owed to you."