Meanwhile, Mr. Walkingshaw was spending one of the happiest evenings he remembered. There was indeed some slight constraint in the drawing-room so long as his sister remained there, but when, after a series of sighs which punctuated some twenty minutes' pointed silence, she at last bade them a depressed good-night, the three happy lovers gave rein to their hearts. Heriot gave the loosest rein of all. It almost seemed as if a lover set at liberty was even happier than a lover just engaged. He had that air of animated relief noticeable in the escaped victims of a conscientious dentist. As for his children, they adored him little less than they adored two other people who were not there.
Yet once or twice Jean fell thoughtful. At last she said—
"I wonder whether we ought to go out to the Comyns' to-morrow after all?"
"My dear girl, why not? You'll have a very pleasant time there; and anyhow, it's too late to write and tell them you aren't coming."
"We could wire in the morning," she said. "Frank, do you think we ought to go?"
He looked a little surprised, but answered readily, "Not if you don't want to."
"But why not go?" their father repeated.
She hesitated. "Are you quite sure Andrew and Madge won't—won't try to be unpleasant?"