From this time on the course of events was not precisely logical. Mrs. Holt, setting in abeyance any ideas she may have had about the affair, took Honora in her arms, and against that ample bosom was sobbed out the pent-up excitement and emotion of an extraordinary day.
“There, there, my dear,” said Mrs. Holt, stroking the dark hair, “I should not have asked you that-forgive me.” And the worthy lady, quivering with sympathy now, remembered the time of her own engagement to Joshua. And the fact that the circumstances of that event differed somewhat from those of the present—in regularity, at least, increased rather than detracted from Mrs. Holt's sudden access of tenderness. The perplexing questions as to the probable result of such a marriage were swept away by a flood of feeling. “There, there, my dear, I did not mean to be harsh. What you told me was such a shock—such a surprise, and marriage is such a grave and sacred thing.”
“I know it,” sobbed Honora.
“And you are very young.”
“Yes, Mrs. Holt.”
“And it happened in my house.”
“No,” said Honora, “it happened—near the golf course.”
Mrs. Holt smiled, and wiped her eyes.
“I mean, my dear, that I shall always feel responsible for bringing you together—-for your future happiness. That is a great deal. I could have wished that you both had taken longer to reflect, but I hope with all my heart that you will be happy.”
Honora lifted up a tear-stained face.