“Undoubtedly.  They judge correctly, because directly.”

The picture of a young girl in a riding-habit kneeling in the dust with a chubby, little, ragged child in her arms flashed before Keith’s mental vision.  And he almost gave a gasp.

“Is she married happily?’” he asked “I hope she is happy.”

“Oh, as happy as the day is long,” declared Mrs. Wentworth, cheerfully.  Deep down in her eyes was a wicked twinkle of malice.  Her face wore a look of content.  “He is not altogether indifferent yet,” she said to herself.  And when Keith said firmly that he was very glad to hear it, she did him the honor to disbelieve him.

“Of course, you know that Mr. Lancaster is a good deal older than Alice?”

Yes, Keith had heard so.

“But a charming man, and immensely rich.”

“Yes.”  Keith began to look grim.

“Aren’t you going to see here?” inquired Mrs. Wentworth, finding that Keith was not prepared to say any more on the subject.

Keith said he should like to do so very much.  He hoped to see her before going away; but he could not tell.

“She is married now, and must be so taken up with her new duties that I fear she would hardly remember me,” he added, with a laugh.  “I don’t think I ever made much impression on her.”

“Alice Yorke is not one to forget her friends.  Why, she spoke of you with real friendship,” she said, smiling, thinking to herself, Alice likes him, and he is still in love with her.  This begins to be interesting.

“A woman does not have to give up all her friends when she marries?” she added, with her eyes on Keith.

Keith smiled.

“Oh, no; only her lovers, unless they turn into friends.”

“Of course, those,” said Mrs. Wentworth, who, after a moment’s reflection, added, “They don’t always do that.  Do you believe a woman ever forgets entirely a man she has really loved?”

“She does if she is happily married and if she is wise.”

“But all women are not happily married.”

“And, perhaps, all are not wise,” said Keith.

Some association of ideas led him to say suddenly: 

“Tell me something about Ferdy Wickersham.  He was one of your ushers, wasn’t he?” He was surprised to see Mrs. Wentworth’s countenance change.  Her eyelids closed suddenly as if a glare were turned unexpectedly on them, and she caught her breath.

“Yes—­I have known him since we were children.  Of course, you know he was desperately in love with Alice Lancaster?”

Keith said he had heard something of the kind.

“He still likes her.”

“She is married,” said Keith, decisively.

“Yes.”

A moment later Mrs. Wentworth drew a long breath and moistened her lips.

“You knew him at the same time that you first knew Norman, did you not?” She was simply figuring for time.

“Yes, I met him first then,” said Keith.