Young George drove himself home with very pleasant recollections of his afternoon. He had found the Beckley girls quite humanly entertaining when out of sight and hearing of their 'awful old Mademoiselle,' and when Maggie Williams had joined the party they had all enjoyed themselves exceedingly. She was a pretty, lively girl, ready to amuse herself in whatever company should be provided for her, and had made it plain that she particularly liked that of Young George.

Young George felt that he was beginning to know what love really was. Memories of the way Maggie tossed her masses of dark hair, and looked when she spoke to him, out of her laughing eyes, beguiled his homeward journey. She was the only girl he had ever met worthy to be compared with his own sisters, and it was an addition to his pleasure that they approved of her. He had been a little anxious about that when he had first begun to think a good deal about her, because Jimmy had been so very contemptuous at the idea of taking notice of a girl of fourteen. But after Maggie had been over to Abington, and he had waited rather anxiously to hear the comments that might be made about her, Beatrix had said: "Dear old boy, I think you have very good taste. She's much the prettiest girl anywhere about here, except us; and she's very nice too." And Barbara had said: "If I've got to lose you, Bunting, I'd as soon Maggie had you as anybody. I should scratch anybody else's eyes out."

Even Jimmy seemed to have waked up to Maggie's charm. He had taken a good deal more notice of her that afternoon than ever before, and had told Young George as he went off that he'd only been rotting when he had chaffed him about her. In the present unattached state of his affections, Young George had had a faint idea that Jimmy might be preparing to cut him out. But, although Maggie had responded frankly to his unusual attentions to her, it was Young George whose conversation and society she had obviously preferred. This memory gave him an agreeable sensation under the ribs as he went over the signs of it. Jimmy would not be able to cut him out, but it was satisfying to have his taste thus endorsed by a man of such wide experience in these affairs.

When he had nearly reached home and was driving up the road through the park, he descried two figures strolling through the fern towards him. He recognised them as Dick Mansergh and Beatrix, and either something in their attitude towards one another, although they were walking apart, or the thoughts upon which his own mind had been running, gave him the idea that whatever differences they may have had were at an end, and the engagement which he and Jimmy had agreed would be such an eminently suitable one had come to pass.

And so it proved. Beatrix looked up at the sound of his wheels, and signalled to him, and both of them came across the grass to intercept him. Beatrix was smiling as she came up. "Bunting, darling, we've been waiting for you," she said.

Dick was smiling too. "We've got something to tell you," he said.

"Congratters!" said Young George, rather shyly. "I know what it is."

Then Beatrix stretched up to him and kissed him, and Dick looked as if he wished he had been in his place, but did not claim a kiss for himself.

Young George commented upon this in a confidential talk with Caroline afterwards. "He strikes me as a strong sort of chap, who puts control over himself," he said. "I think that's what B wants, don't you?"

Caroline hesitated a little. "Yes, perhaps she does," she said. "You know, Bunting, it was rather a surprise to me when it did come. I didn't say much to you when you asked me yesterday, because I didn't think she was ready for it yet, though I thought she would be sooner or later."

"Don't you think she's in love with him, then?"

"She wouldn't want to marry him if she weren't."

"Perhaps he made her say she would. She looked pleased all right when she told me, but not—well, you know what I mean—sort of carried away."

Caroline sighed. "I wish he'd been the first," she said.

This was immediately after Young George had come home. Dick had driven himself over to luncheon. She and Beatrix and Miss Waterhouse had been in the Long Gallery when his name had been brought up, and Beatrix had said: "Oh, bother! I wanted to have a quiet afternoon." But over the luncheon table she had been in higher spirits than during the morning, when she had either been alone or sitting with them over her work, saying very little. This had given Caroline the idea that she was rather pleased that he had come over, after all, but had not in the least prepared her for what afterwards happened.

They had all gone out into the garden. Tennis had been suggested, but it was very hot, and there were only three of them. They had sat and talked together, and after a time Caroline had gone indoors, but not with the object of leaving them alone together. If he had wanted that, Beatrix had given no sign that she did.

She had come out an hour later, but they had gone off somewhere together. Tea was in the yew arbour, and as she was pouring it out, for herself and Miss Waterhouse, they had come up, and Dick had made his announcement. "Well, B and I have settled it up together. We're going to get married as soon as they'll let us."

Looking back upon what had followed, Caroline could not yet gauge all that lay beneath the matter-of-fact air with which both of them treated the momentous event. With Dick, it was not so difficult. Probably Bunting had found the right solution of his steady unemotional way of bearing himself. He was a man of strong self-control, but there were signs in his voice and in his look that a great deal of ferment lay under the crust of his manner, and would become apparent if he were not under the compulsion of hiding it.

But why should he have been under that compulsion at such a time, when love had found its triumphant reward, and there was no one before whom he need hide his exultation?

How did Beatrix really stand towards him? She had always treated his obvious pursuit of her lightly, and never as if her heart had been in the least touched by his suit, though Caroline had believed that in time it might be. Dick had been a good deal in London during the latter part of the season, and he had been there because Beatrix was there, for it was not his habit to devote his leaves to a round of fashionable engagements. Beatrix had talked about him when she had returned home, but not as if he had made any further impression upon her. Nor had there been any difference in her attitude towards him since, though his visits had been more frequent and his suit presumably more pressing than before.

Certainly, Caroline thought, she had not intended to accept him that afternoon, and if she had admitted to herself a possibility that she might do so, Caroline thought she would have divined it. Having accepted him, she was much as she had been before. She was bright, and contented, and complete mistress of herself. She talked of their father, and of others, friends and relations who might be expected to be pleased at her news. They had already sent off telegrams, going down to the village themselves before tea. They had both talked of an early marriage, and of where they would live, and of what she would do while Dick was at sea. She had been affectionate to Caroline, but had not responded to her little secret advances of love and sympathy, which no one else would have noticed but to which she would have answered readily enough if she had wanted to.

Caroline's heart was rather heavy. Beatrix had poured out all the tale of her love to her a year before, and afterwards relied on her more than any one to assuage her pain. Was she to be kept out of this new love altogether? Or was there no love that could be acknowledged and rejoiced over? Caroline would have little to offer if it was to be an affair of a suitable marriage only. Without love, it would not be so eminently suitable. In the future Beatrix would have the sort of place in the world to which her birth and connections entitled her. But in the meantime, as the wife of a sailor on active service, if she were to be with him as much as possible, she would be cut off from a great deal of what she had been accustomed to, and there would be no settling down for her anywhere. On the face of it, her life would be less in accordance with her tastes as Dick's wife than Caroline's would be if she were to marry Francis Parry. And Caroline had told her father that if she had loved Francis that wouldn't have mattered; she would have been happy with him anywhere, as Viola Prescott had been happy with her husband in surroundings little fitted for her. But without love it would matter—surely to Beatrix as much as to herself.

And Beatrix had loved so whole-heartedly and so tenderly, although she had had only a very short time to give herself up freely to the joy that had come to her. And after that, until the end had come, she had only had hope and the trust that was to be betrayed to uphold her; but still she had flowered and developed under it. Love meant very much to her. When the wounds left by the destruction of her first love had healed she must love again in some happy time. She could not do without it. Wasn't she laying up unhappiness for herself in taking a love that she could not return in full measure? And was it fair to the man who would want from her everything that it was in her to give to one whom she should love as she had loved once already?

Dick stayed to dinner, and the Prescotts came, and there was an air of excitement and anticipatory pleasure over the whole evening. Beatrix was in much higher spirits than she had been after the news had been broken to Caroline and Miss Waterhouse at tea time. She was flushed and sparkling, and talked continuously. Nor did she withhold from her lover those signs which are so sweet to one who has gained the fulfilment of his hopes, when he has to share his loved one with others, but is made to feel that there is much for him alone. Dick's self-control was not so much in evidence now, however cautiously he seemed to be testing the ice of his happiness and finding it to bear. As a newly engaged couple they fully satisfied Viola Prescott, who said to Caroline in a confidential aside after dinner: "Isn't she adorable over it? I've never seen her look so lovely before. It's happiness that does it all."

But Caroline still bore a weight on her heart. She and Beatrix had been alone together for a short time before dinner, and Beatrix had given her some confidences. But they had not been such as to lighten the weight. "He's such a dear!" she had said. "I really had to accept him, though I hadn't meant to just yet. Now I'm glad I have. And I'm sure darling old Dad will be pleased."

These were not the confidences that she had given Caroline after her engagement to Lassigny. Their father had not been pleased, but his displeasure had not stemmed the outpourings of love. Now it seemed that to please him was of paramount importance. No answering telegram had come from him, and when Dick and the Prescotts had taken their departure Beatrix showed herself disturbed by this.

"Surely he can't be angry this time," she said, "because Dick didn't ask him first, I mean. That's what he didn't like—before. But he must have known that Dick was coming here because of me, and he never tried to stop it, or said anything about it."

Caroline and Miss Waterhouse both reassured her. The telegram had gone to the Bank—not very early in the afternoon. He must have left before it came; and it had not been forwarded to him, or else it had not found him before the offices closed.

She came to Caroline's room for those preparations for the night which they made together when they wanted to talk. But there were no more confidences of any sort. It was her father whom she still talked of in connection with her engagement and marriage. And she talked of her marriage more than of her engagement, which she seemed to want cut short. With Lassigny she had been quite content to wait. She had talked very little of marriage, and had seemed to have formed no clear picture in her mind of what her life with him would be. She loved him and he loved her, and that was enough.

"Dick says I can come home as much as I like, while he is at sea. I know Dad will want to have me. I wish he had telegraphed. He won't think I don't love him as much as ever because I am going to leave him, will he? I love him a thousand times more. I told Dick he must never take me away from him for very long."

"What does Dick feel about Dad?" asked Caroline, remembering what her father had said to her on that subject when they had ridden together.

"Oh, he loves him. He told me he had first come over here because he liked him so much. It wasn't me—until later—not very much later, though. It was nearly love at first sight, but not quite. He says he doesn't think there is such a thing really. If there is it isn't the best sort of love, because it's only what a person looks like. I'm rather frightened, you know, finding what sort of person Dick thinks I am. I hope I shall be able to live up to it."

"It won't want living up to, darling, if you love him. You'll only have to be yourself. That would be enough for any man."

Beatrix flung her arms round her neck and kissed her warmly. "You know I'm not perfect, darling," she said. "But you love me all the same, don't you?"

For a moment, as she clung to her, Caroline thought that there were to be the real confidences for which she was aching. She returned her embrace, with her heart in her throat. But Beatrix drew herself away. "He does love me; and I love him," she said, with an air of finality. But there had been ever so little of a pause between the two statements.

Grafton's telegram came early the next morning, "Delighted, my darling; love and blessings. Have wired to Dick, shall be down this evening. Bring him to meet me."

It was Thursday, and he had not intended to come down until the following day. There was no doubt about the pleasure the news had given him. Beatrix went about the house singing.

Late that evening Caroline came down to talk to her father, who was reading in the library over a last pipe. One of the signs of his changed habits was the considerable diminution of his cigar bill.

He looked up with a smile of pleasure. "Why, my darling child," he said, "I thought you were in bed long ago. Have you been talking it all over with B?"

"No," she said. "I thought I'd come and talk it all over with you, Dad."

He laid aside his book. "Well, it's all very satisfactory, isn't it?" he said. "Rather different from last time! We weren't in such a happy state a year ago."

"It wasn't quite a year ago," she said. "And it isn't six months ago since she was so much in love with somebody else."

"I know. I knew she'd get over it. But I confess I didn't think she'd get over it quite so quickly."

She didn't reply. He looked at her, and asked: "What's the matter, darling? Aren't you pleased about it? She has got over that other business, hasn't she?"

"If you mean, does she love him any more, of course she doesn't. But I don't think she has got over it all the same. It has altered her."

She had drawn a chair close up to his and was leaning against it. He took her hand. "Darling child," he said, "you're too sensitive. You're feeling losing her. She hasn't talked to you enough about it. But she will, you know, when she has settled down."

"She has talked to you, hasn't she, Dad?"

"Yes, she's talked to me. Nobody could have been sweeter than she was. I'm very lucky in my daughters, Cara. Both of you—all three of you—know that you can come to me and tell me about these things that girls don't usually confide to their fathers. You've done it, and now B has done it. She didn't do it last time. That shows what a right marriage this is, and what a wrong one that would have been."

"She would have done it, last time, darling, if you hadn't stopped it."

His pressure on her hand that he was holding relaxed. "Surely—" he began, but she caught him up hurriedly: "Oh, I don't mean that you weren't right to stop it; but how has she talked to you about Dick—and her engagement to him?"

He smiled, and gave her hand a little squeeze. "Why, just in the way that would most please an affectionate parent," he said. "I like Dick immensely; I think he's a fine fellow, and there's a lot more in him than appears on the surface. But she spared me rhapsodies about him. She knew, I suppose, that I could take all that for granted, and should be soothed by being made to feel that I hadn't got to give up everything to him. She's my darling child still, and always will be. And, as I told you, I like Dick well enough to take him in. They'll both be to me what your dear mother and I were to her father. I don't think I could love B any more than I do now. But though I'm giving her up I shan't love her any less. And I shan't mind giving her up. I'm happier—for my own sake—about her than I was when I first had her news. She has what she wants to make her happy, and she has given me all I want to make me happy."

"I'm so glad, Dad," she said. "And though I suppose she'll be away a lot just at first, by and bye they will be living here, and you'll see as much of her as you want."

She led him on to talk of the surface facts of the engagement. The marriage would take place, and it was well for him that he thought as he did about it. She had wondered if he would see, as she thought she saw, that Beatrix was fixing her own mind upon those surface facts, and what his wisdom would make of her chance of happiness if she had not brought the deep love that she had it in her to bring to her betrothal. But he had not seen it, though what he was pleased with in her confidences to him only confirmed Caroline's own mistrust. The rhapsodies that she had dispensed him from listening to would surely have been sounded if the impulse towards them had been there. She would have asked for his loving sympathy in what filled her own mind, and shown her love for him in asking for it just as much as by assuring him of that love.

But she was glad for his sake that he had seen nothing. She kissed him good-night, and said: "When B goes there'll only be you and me, Daddy, till Barbara comes home. I shan't leave you for a long time yet."