"'White-handed Hope, thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,'" she quoted, with a smile.
"That's Margaret," he murmured rapturously.
"It's a poor kind of man that gives up hope until he lies in his coffin, and even then—" and she nodded thoughtfully, as though tempted to a descent into metaphysics.
"Let us talk of bridal wreaths. They are very much nicer to think of than coffins when one is discussing Margaret Brandt."
"She is very sweet and very beautiful—"
"There never was anyone like her in this world—unless it was my mother and yourself."
"Let Margaret be first with you, my boy. That also is as it should be. Neither your dear mother nor I stand in need of empty compliments. Margaret Brandt is worthy any good man's whole heart, and perhaps I can be of some help to you. But, all the same, remember what I've said. You may be too late in the field."
"You are just the splendidest old lady in the world," he said exuberantly; and added, with a touch of gloom, "She was talking of going off to the Riviera."
"Ah, then, I suppose I shall be in eclipse also, until she returns."
"Oh no, you won't. We can talk of her, you know," at which Lady Elspeth's eyes twinkled merrily.