I looked at Vernon. The waiter had removed the breakfast things; we had the room to ourselves. Vernon went and shut the door, then he came up to Aunt Penelope and took her hand.
"Twelve o'clock won't make any difference, my dear friend," he said.
"Why, what on earth do you mean, Vernon?" was her remark. "You surely are not backing out of it!"
"Heather and I can have nothing to do with it."
"You and Heather? what nonsense you talk! I don't believe I am hearing you aright."
"Yes, you are. Major Grayson was here last night; he came after you had gone to bed. He doesn't wish it done; he says he will abide by his bargain. He is as brave a soldier as I have ever come across, and for my part I don't see why he should be deprived of his laurel wreath."
"Oh, what are you talking about!" said Aunt Penelope. "His laurel wreath! Why, you know as well as I do that he's cashiered from the army. And you call that a glory, or whatever else you consider a laurel wreath!"
"In the eyes of God he is a hero, and he doesn't much mind what man says. Now, I'll tell you everything. You've got to listen—you can't go against a noble spirit like his."
Aunt Penelope fidgeted and trembled. A great spot of pink colour came on one of her cheeks, leaving the other pale.
"Well, have your say," she murmured. "Have your say, I'm sure I don't care."