to a great extent, you know. If she offers any
objection we shall have to reconsider it."

"I'm not afraid. Charlotte has always approved of me," asserted
Christopher cheerfully.

"Of course Charlotte will be pleased," put in that young lady's
mother, quite seriously. "What nonsense you are talking, Patricia."

She got up and offered a transparent excuse to slip away and leave the
lovers alone.

Patricia, still kneeling by the fire, leant her head against
Christopher.

"I used to try and make up my mind you would marry Charlotte when she
grew up," she said dreamily.

"How ingenious of you. Unfortunately, it was my mind, not yours, that
was concerned, and that had been made up when Charlotte was in
pinafores. Now come and talk business, dear."

So at last he told her the news he had been so tardy in delivering,
told her the whole story very simply and as impersonally as he could,
but Patricia's heart brimmed over with pity for him. She divined more
clearly than the men the strength of his hatred for the burden with
which he was threatened, and the burden of past memories in which that
hatred had its root. In the fulness of her love she set herself the
future task of rooting out the resentment for another's sorrows, which
she knew must be as poison to his generous soul. At length
Christopher, having read in her love the confirmation for which he so
childishly longed, took her away to be introduced to Caesar in her new
character as his promised wife. She waited for no such introduction
whatever, but seated herself on the big hassock by the sofa that was
still Christopher's privileged seat and leant her head against the
edge of Caesar's cushions, but she failed to find anything to say and
Christopher was so occupied in watching her as to forget to speak.

"It's taken him a long time to recognise his own privilege, hasn't it,
Patricia?" said Caesar, gently putting his hand on hers. "I was getting
impatient with him. It was time he grew up."

"You aren't disappointed then?" she asked with a little flush of
confusion. "Mrs. Sartin will be. She always expects him to marry a
duchess at least. She is so insufferably proud of him."

"She does not know him so well as we do, that's why."

"I'll not stay here to be discussed," remarked Christopher decidedly,
"you can pull my character to pieces when I'm away. When did you last
see Mrs. Sartin, Patricia?"

"Last Thursday. She comes to tea every week with Maria."

Mar