"Now we can sleep in peace," said Lord Wereminster benignly, "and sing 'I fear no foe' with some conviction."
Evelyn alone of the congratulatory group was dumb. To have one's prayers answered openly is sometimes a betrayal of what those prayers have meant to one. Farquharson came quietly up to her, and, voiceless still, her eyes searched his face. How he had aged the last few months! There was a great patch of grey hair on the right-hand side of his brow. She wondered if she would ever see again the look of boyish exaltation he had had that night at Bramley.
Hare, glancing at them, quietly drew Lady Wereminster's attention to the fact that Mrs. Farquharson was still sitting apart from the rest with Meavy. "Would it not be correct to congratulate her too?" he suggested.
"And you—have you nothing to say?" Farquharson asked. They were practically alone for the first time since his marriage.
Evelyn looked down. Her eyes were wet.
"Don't—don't!" she said; "it's beyond all words—the gladness, I mean. You know the little desert song—
"'No one but God and I
Know what is in my heart.'
That's what I feel."
"Now, Evelyn, Evelyn, come over here with my husband, or I shall feel quite jealous," called Mrs. Farquharson from the other end of the room.
CHAPTER III