"Life-long friends."
"But," he pleaded, "you're not going to disclose the fact to them that each has been—"
"A woman," I said, rising to go, "can't possibly keep a secret."
I waited on Colonel Edgington, and took him back to Greenwich. From the time the bells rang for evening service, until the hour when people came back from church, he and Mr. Hillier and I threshed the matter out; the Colonel was indignant at the thought that anyone but himself should have hit on the notion of securing The Croft for the Hilliers, and particularly vehement concerning what he called my unwarrantable interference. At this Mr. Hillier took my side, and defended me, and when, to pacify the other, I pointed out that Colonel Edgington was the best friend the family ever had, Mr. Hillier suddenly burst into a roar that lasted minutes. It was the first time I had heard him do this since the war started.
"But for Aunt Weston," he said, wiping his eyes, "but for her, we two, Edgington, might have gone on bidding against each other for all time. I had determined, you see, to go back to The Croft."
"For my part, Hillier," said the Colonel resolutely, "I never let go of an idea, once I get well hold of it."
"Each of you will write now," I directed, "with-drawing your offer. No one but ourselves, apparently, wants the house, and in a week or two, Katherine—Mrs. Langford—will take it at a reasonable figure."
Colonel Edgington went across to the fire-place, adjusted his belt, glared at me, and turned to Mr. Hillier.
"Old friend," he said, "if there is anything in the flat in the nature of a beverage, I should like to give myself the pleasure of drinking this extraordinary woman's health!"