“You are wrong, Joy,” laughed the lady. “This is no longer Miss Penelope Winter. This is Mrs. Will Grasmore of Grasmore Grange, Westmorland.”
“You are married?” cried Joy.
Mrs. Will Grasmore waved a hand towards the table she had just left. “There sits the happy man, whose complete happiness began three months ago.”
“Which—” began Joy, and then stopped suddenly, as a curious look came on her face. “Of course! I see! The other one is Geoffrey Bracknell, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” laughed her friend, “and he is dying to renew the acquaintance he began in Westmorland four years ago! May I bring him and Will over? I see that, like ourselves, you are almost at the end of lunch. We might take coffee together.”
For the fraction of a minute Joy hesitated. Sir Joseph, who was watching her, noticed that hesitation, though he was the only one who did. Then Joy spoke.
“Well, if you like, Penelope, and if my uncle doesn’t mind. I am his guest, and—”
“Oh, Sir Joseph will not mind, I am sure,” answered Mrs. Winter, flashing a smile at the lawyer and assuming his consent, hurried back to her own table.
“Did you say that the young man with Mr. Winter was named Bracknell?” asked Adrian Rayner suddenly.
There was just a splash of colour in Joy’s cheeks as she replied shortly, “Yes!”