"Jinny? Oh dear me, no. It was her idea."
Her face changed again. The light and flush of life withdrew. Her sallowness returned. She had the fixed look of one who watches the perishing under her eyes of a beloved dream.
"And you," she said, as if she read him, "are not quite sure whether you really want me?"
"Should I ask you if I didn't want you? My only doubt was whether you would care to come. Will you?"
He looked at her with his intent look. It bore some faint resemblance to the look he had for Jane. Her light rose. She met his gaze with a flame of the sacrificial fire.
"I'll do whatever you want," she said.
That was how Gertrude came back to Brodrick's house.
"And now," Jane wrote to Sophy Levine, "we're all happy."
But Sophy in her wisdom wondered. As soon as she heard of Gertrude's installation she rushed over to Putney at the highest speed of her motor-car.
She found Jane on the lawn, lying back in her long chair. An expression of great peace was on her face.