"Just a little, Alan," she replied, after a moment. "But I'm not going to let it make me a skeleton at the feast," she added with a small laugh. She would have given much then to have been walking with Teddy; her answer to a similar question from him would have been somewhat different, for her mind was full of vague fears.
And just then Alan spoke of Teddy. "Is there anything wrong between you and Teddy, Doris? I may be mistaken, but these last few days I have been fancying you were avoiding each other. No quarrel, surely."
"Oh, nonsense! Teddy is my oldest friend, and neither of us is quarrelsome. On the other hand, we are interested in people besides each other." Her lighter tone was very well assumed.
"That's all right then," he said, and there was a pause. Then, suddenly, he put another question: "Doris, must I go on waiting till—till the clock stops?"
Her reply was, to say the least of it, unexpected. "No, I don't think it's necessary, Alan."
"Doris!" He may have imagined his voice sounded eager as he proceeded:
"Then I may speak now!"
"Please, no," she gently forbade. "I meant that you must never speak at all—to me—of marriage. For you don't really love me, dear Alan, and I—I'm really awfully glad! Now don't say another word, my friend. Who could be dishonest under such a sky?"
And having nothing to say, he held his peace till they reached the gates of the doctor's garden where the others awaited them.
* * * * *
To Mrs. Lancaster, as a matter of course, the chief guest-chamber had been allotted. Its door faced that of the study across the spacious landing; viewed from outside, its bay-window balanced that of the study and suggested an equally large apartment. It lacked, however, the depth of the opposite room, and further differed from the latter in having a window of ordinary size in the side wall, looking north. Elegance and comfort it possessed to satisfy the most fastidious senses. White walls and furniture, rose velvet carpet, and hangings, silver electric fittings and a silver bedstead. The warmed atmosphere would have been pleasant to the body without the fire, yet those glowing and flaming logs made cheerfulness for the imagination—or would have done so for the imagination of any person save Mrs. Lancaster. At intervals she shivered. She was half sitting, half reclining on the couch drawn near to the hearth. She was wearing an elaborate tea-gown which had cost her, or, to be precise, had added to her debts, more guineas than some of us earn in a year.