Stephen and I were eagerly waiting to tell him our news, for my beloved had distanced all competitors, and every one foretold a brilliant professional future for him. After these more interesting details had been gone through, I asked if Norman had made all smooth with Frith.
"To be sure I have; and now your affair is over, Stephen, I shall not be tempted to break my word by again meddling with Her Majesty's mail-bags."
"I do not understand the allusion," said Stephen. "Berty has been worrying herself about something: I can hardly tell what. Let me have your version."
Norman coloured and looked a little ashamed, but told the story without sparing himself.
I spoke indignantly as he ended—"It was too bad of Frith to write straight off about such a ridiculous affair. He might have waited for Norman to explain."
Stephen looked, as I thought, needlessly grave.
"Frith was undoubtedly right," he said. "There could be no explanation, dear. I should have done as he did."
I took alarm, for Stephen's face was always eloquent, and I was sure he anticipated coming trouble; but Norman interposed before I could ask any further questions.
"No gloomy retrospections—no evil forebodings. Frith and I are good friends, and future misunderstandings impossible. Now for a pleasanter subject. We have fixed the week for the weddings—what about the day?"
Stephen promptly suggested Monday, but was snubbed and silenced by me, though I knew he and I must sail for the East very soon after our marriage. Finally, Thursday was agreed upon, subject to Lucy's sanction.