“I am sorry to break in on these blissful dreams of the future,” said Wylie, in rather a forced voice, “but the fact is, my extended leave is nearly out, and my time here is limited. How soon am I to intimate to Sir Frank that his presence will be required at the Dacian Consulate?”
“This day week,” returned Maurice promptly. “Eirene is pledged not to protest, and the Professor has promised to get her the Patriarch’s blessing as a reward.”
“Then I shall just have time to see you through. I sail in the afternoon.”
“If there’s any risk, we’ll put the wedding earlier,” said Maurice. “Don’t mind my feelings; tell me if it’s necessary. I must have you to support me.”
“Oh, you’ll have Armitage.”
“I shall have Armitage anyhow. The Professor says two best men are necessary. But you I must have—as better best man, I suppose. So let me know the worst, or I’ll keep you back by force, and get you cashiered.”
“Oh, that’ll be all right,” said Wylie, compassionating Eirene’s blushes. “I hope you realise what a lucky fellow you are, and that the Princess won’t let you forget it.”
“How could I forget it, when I have got her?” demanded Maurice. “He talks treason, doesn’t he, Eirene? Let us depart in dudgeon, and leave him and Zoe to plot the subjugation of Sir Frank. No, Zoe, we don’t want you. I am surprised that a person of your discernment should try to make a third in the walks of an engaged couple. You’re not the only one in the family to take up match-making,” he added in a whisper, as Zoe sat down again, somewhat discomposed. But the emergency put her on her mettle, and she turned to Wylie with smiling coolness as Maurice and Eirene went down the steps into the garden.
“It’s delicious to see them looking so happy, isn’t it?” she remarked. “It makes one feel quite choky.”
“Doesn’t it make you feel that such perfect bliss ought to be infectious? Don’t you think you and I——”