"Yes?"
"When we are—married, will you and Diana be just as good friends?"
"I hope that we may——"
Something in his tone had made her look up and say quickly, "Oh, I want you to be friends. You didn't think that I was jealous—of Diana?"
He had thought she might be. If she knew the truth she would surely have a right to be. But she did not know the truth.
"Why did you ask?" he probed.
"Because," feverishly, "it doesn't seem right, does it, that just because a man and a woman are married they should never have any men or women friends? There's Bobbie, for example—and—and Justin—I shan't have to be just your wife, shall I? I can have them for friends?"
"Of course." Yet even as he said it he wondered if he would care to have her allegiance divided—as his was divided. Oh, wise Diana, who had refused to be what she had no right to be, what he would not want his own wife to be, when once she was bound to him—the dear friend of another man.
"You and I," he said, "must try to be all in all to each other." Then after a pause, "Do you really love me, child?"
"Oh, yes." Again she drew a sobbing breath.