A month later the engagement of Darwen to Miss Jameson was publicly announced.
All this time Carstairs had pursued the even tenor of his way undisturbed. He grew more silent and thoughtful than ever; of Darwen he saw very little, except when they met at the works, or at dances, which Carstairs still consistently attended. There was a light of triumph continually in Darwen's eyes; he seemed very happy over his engagement. After he was made chief assistant he and Carstairs saw more of each other at the works; they spent long hours in consultation about the work, a common bond seemed to be drawing them even closer together. One day Carstairs remarked, "I'm going home for a week end next week. Would you and Miss Jameson care to come with me?"
"Thanks, old man, I should like to go, and I think the girl would too."
On the Saturday afternoon the three of them set out for Chilcombe. When they arrived there was quite a house party. Stephen, Jack's artist brother, was at home, and Commander John Carstairs and the Bevengtons were invited to spend Sunday. As the five big men sat smoking after dinner, the old vicar repeated his congratulations to Darwen. "I hope Jack will be as lucky," he observed. "Hasn't he shown any decided preference at any of those dances yet?"
"No! honestly I can't say that I've observed it."
"Oh, but Jack's booked," Commander Carstairs remarked.
"How? To whom?"
"Why! the girl he pulled out of the river, of course. You can't get out of that, Jack."
"Pulled out of the river?" Darwen asked in surprise. "You never told me, Jack."
"No. I don't think the subject ever arose, did it?" Jack puffed solemnly at his pipe.