January 25th. Beresford was here to lunch and he and mother and Sis had a long talk. He says he has kept it a secret because he did not want his Busness known. But he is here to place a shell order for the English War Department.
“Well,” Leila said, “I can hardly wait to tell father and see him curl up.”
“No, no,” said Beresford, hastily. “Realy you must allow me—I must inform him myself. I am sure you can see why. This is a thing for men to settle. Besides, it is a delacate matter. Mr. Archibald is trying to get the Order, and our New York office, if I am willing, is ready to place it with him.”
“Well!” said Leila, in a thunderstruck tone. “If you British don’t beat anything for keeping your own Counsel!”
I could see that he had her hand under the table. It was sickning.
Jane came to see me after lunch. The wedding was that night, and I had to sit through silver vegatable dishes, and after-dinner coffee sets and plates and a grand piano and a set of gold vazes and a cabushon saphire and the bridesmaid’s clothes and the wedding supper and heaven knows what. But at last she said:
“You dear thing—how weary and wan you look!”
I closed my eyes.
“But you don’t intend to give him up, do you?”
“Look at me!” I said, in imperious tones. “Do I look like one who would give him up, because of Familey objections?”