Miss Saker stared.
“Why do you say ‘thank God’?” she asked.
“Because, madam, I would not have my son re-wedded to a devil.”
There was a short but impressive silence between them for a moment. Then Miss Saker stood up, tugging at her gloves. John Strong also rose like a man who was very tired.
“You understand, Mr. Strong,” she said, “what a terrible ordeal this has been to me.”
“I understand, madam, and, believe me, I am grateful.”
“And your promise?”
“A promise, Miss Saker, is a promise.”
The woman in the pink toque smiled, but the smile vanished utterly as she met the old man’s gray eyes. There was something so subtle and contemptuous in the look he gave her that her vapid self-esteem and her facile hypocrisy seemed to wither in a moment.
“Good-bye,” she gushed, holding out a hand.