"A toast!—to whom?"
"To—to two people who we thought were going to make you and me happy—but are going to make each other happy instead."
She did not answer for a moment. She and her brother stood facing each other in the strange freak of lamplight and moonlight. Then she said—
"Yes. We must want them to be happy, Nigel."
He turned to the uncleared supper-table and poured out some of the red wine that Janey drank in these days of her weakness.
"We'll drink to their happiness, old sister. We won't go whining and grudging because it isn't ours. Besides, we're going to have it some day—we'll make a new lot of our own."
"Yes, Nigel"—Janey's eyes had kindled—"we're not going to grudge them what they've got, or be envious and mean."
They faced each other across the table. The wind gave a sudden little sigh round Sparrow Hall—blustered—and was still.
"A toast!" cried Nigel, lifting his glass, "a toast!—To those who've got what we have lost."