wife.

'Rather jolly little girl, she was.'

'Oh yes,' said Goldthorpe indifferently. He thought Edith very
attractive, and would have liked to have the duty of consoling her.

'One of those girls that sort of _get round_ you, and appeal to
you--_you_ know.'

'Oh yes.'

'Grey eyes--no, by Jove! I should call them hazel, with black lashes,
no, not exactly black--brown. Nice, white teeth, slim figure--perhaps
a bit too straight. Brownish hair with a tinge of gold in the sun.'

'Oh yes.'

'About twenty,' continued Bruce dreamily. He knew that Miss Townsend
was thirty-two, but suspected Goldthorpe of admiring flappers, and so,
with a subconscious desire to impress him, rearranged the lady's age.

'About twenty--if that. Rather long, thin hands--the hands of a lady.
Well, it's all over now.'

'That's all right,' said Goldthorpe. He seemed to have had enough of
this retrospective inventory. He looked at his watch and found he had
an appointment.

Bruce, thinking he seemed jealous, smiled to himself.

For a few days after what had passed there was a happy reaction in the
house. Everyone was almost unnaturally sweet and polite and unselfish
about trifles to everybody else. Edith was devoting herself to the
children, Bruce had less of her society than usual. She seemed to
assume they were to be like brother and sister. He wouldn't at present
raise the question; thinking she would soon get over such a rotten
idea. Besides, a great many people had left town; and they were,
themselves, in the rather unsettled state of intending to go away in a
fortnight. Though happy at getting off so easily, Bruce was really
missing the meetings and notes (rather than the girl).

Fortunately, Vincy now returned; he was looking sunburnt and happy. He
had been having a good time. Yet he looked a little anxious
occasionally, as if perplexed.

One day he told Edith that he had just had a rather serious quarrel
with someone who was awfully cross, and carried on like anything and
wouldn't give over.

'I guess who she is. What does she want you to do?'

'She wants me to do what all my relations are always bothering me to
do,' said Vincy, 'only with a different person.'

'What, to marry?'

'Yes.'

'To marry her, I suppose? Shall you?'

'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'I don't think I quite can.'

'Don't you think it would be rather unkind to her?'

Neither of them had mentioned Miss Argles' name. The fact that Vincy
referred to it