She despatched it at once, with a resolve to handle “her son Jean” with more restraint in the future. Needless to say she did not mention the letter to Agnes, whose overtures to peace she had finally accepted.
Life went on its interesting way. Captain O’Leary made his peace with her, too, and lost it again. Major O’Dell acted as intermediary in their battles. He was delightful, in this capacity, but he would not tell any more about the coat. He said he would see that it was returned to her, but that it might take some time.
The next letter from Jean Jacques Petard was a flaming torch of passion. She might as well drop her disguise. He knew her for her true self. He loved her madly; he read her love, in the cold lines she forced her pen to write. One word of love from her and he would come. He was on convalescent leave and at her service.
She was really alarmed now. Nothing but the impossibility of getting a cable sent kept her from that extravagance. She wrote him at length. It was all a mistake. She admitted that she was young. She told him that she did not love him, and that—deeply grateful though she was for his beautiful devotion—she felt that this must be her last communication to him. She added, in the hope of putting an end to his letters, that she was about to leave Bermuda. With a sigh of relief she posted this dismissal, and at that moment she ceased to be marraine to Jean and Edouard. It was too bad that duty should carry so amiss!
Two weeks later, with no explanation or excuse, a cable came from Wally to Miss Watts:
“Come home by next boat.”
It was a blow to them both, they were having such a good time. But it was “theirs not to question why”—so they packed hastily, to catch the steamer leaving on the morrow.
It happened that hostilities were on at the moment, between Isabelle and the Captain. She did not want to leave him without a farewell, nor did she want to make overtures toward peace. He was off on Haven’s yacht when the news of the approaching sudden departure spread about. It happened that on his return no one spoke to him about it. Isabelle saw him after dinner on the terrace. He lit a cigarette and strolled off alone toward the gardens. She followed him. He wandered into a sort of kiosk, where the view was fine, and she darted in after him, and straight into his arms.
“Good-bye,” she said, “good-bye. I hope it isn’t for ever.”