It was when Noel Endicott was feverishly closing up the last final “business affairs” at Lakemere, supplemented with some portentously long “personal conferences” with that young Diana, Miss Romaine Garland, that Judge Endicott, a grave embassador, came up to Lakemere with news of serious moment. He was secretly Cupid’s embassador.
He was alone with the woman whose interests he had chivalrously guarded for fifteen long years. With a sigh he returned again to the question of the marriage—the strange dead-lock which had so baffled him.
“You sail for Europe in a month. Have you nothing to say to me, Elaine? There is but one final seal to the happiness of your future life. Your marriage.”
“The Senator has an ardent advocate, my dear old friend!” Elaine answered, with beaming eyes, “but he has not yet asked for me!”
“He will,” very decidedly answered Endicott. “I have a letter, in which he asks me to arrange an interview, to formally ask your permission to come here.
“I now understand the delicacy which has held him back till all your momentous business matters have been settled and you have been relieved from all the awkwardness of your confidential relations with the two great bands of capitalists.
“He has respected your illness, your agitation over Garston’s mysterious death, and has given you time to arrange all your legal affairs and settle Romaine’s inheritance.
“Remember, he deems her to be only your ward.
“They speak now of Alynton for a leading Cabinet position. His term in the Senate is expiring; or they will give him one of the four Embassies.
“If he asks you to share his life, I would say nothing to him of the unhappy past. Romaine is now of age. She is rich beyond need. I myself never have questioned you.