"I'm not quite sure I do." Selwyn's voice was grave, uncertain. "Is it that—"
"We will have to be married next week and then you can tell the party who wants your house that your wife does not wish it to be sold. Put the blame on me. It would be disappointing to many people if there was not something, even about my marriage, for which they could criticize me. You mustn't sell the house, Selwyn. That is why I wired you to come. I was afraid it might be too late—if I waited."
Still doubting, Selwyn looked at me as if it could not be true, that which I was saying, and again the room grew still. Then—
Presently, and after a long and understanding while, he broke its stillness, though when he spoke it was difficult to hear him. "We will always keep them, these rooms in Scarborough Square. We will need them as well as the house without its walls. And I— You must have patience with me, Danny. Are you sure you have enough?" "I have not quite as much as you will need for me. And yet—when there is love enough there is enough of all things else. We have waited long to be sure. Surely—oh, surely now—"
"We know?" He bent lower. "Yes, I think now—we know."