Mrs. Featherstone looked at him with gentle approval and her husband said, “Lawrence has taken a very proper line; but I think this matter need not be spoken of again.”

It was a relief to talk about something else, and by and by the party broke up.  An hour or two later, Foster, who wanted to send his foreman some instructions, met Lucy in a passage as he was going to the writing-room.  She stopped him and said, “I haven’t thanked you, Jake; you were careful not to give me an opportunity, but you have banished a haunting fear I couldn’t get rid of.  You know what I mean—­Lawrence told me his story.  Now he is safe.”

She stopped Foster, who began to murmur something.  “This is not all I want to say.  I am not the only person who loves Lawrence and owes you much.  Don’t be too modest; urge your claim.”

Foster would not pretend he did not understand and looked at her steadily.  “If I made a claim on such grounds, I should deserve to have it refused.”

“Then choose better grounds, Jake; I think they can be found,” Lucy answered with a smile.  “But show what you want.  You can’t expect to have it offered, for you to pick up.”

She went away, leaving him in a thoughtful mood, though his heart beat.  Lucy was clever and would not have given him such a hint unless she thought it was justified.  Still, she might be mistaken and he feared to risk too much; then there were other difficulties—­he was not rich.  He went to the writing-room, knitting his brows, and stopped abruptly when he found Alice there alone.  She put aside a half-finished letter, as if she did not want him to go away, and he advanced to the table and stood looking down at her.

“I did not send the telegram stating that I had found Lawrence.”

“No,” she said, smiling, “I know you didn’t.  But why do you wish to explain this?”

Foster hesitated.  “To begin with, it must have looked as if I wanted to boast about keeping my promise and hint that you owed me something.”

“But you were glad you were able to keep your promise?”

“I was,” said Foster; “very glad, indeed.”

Alice gave him a quick glance that thrilled him strangely.  “So Lawrence said for you what you would have liked to say yourself?  One would imagine he knew your feelings.”

“Yes,” said Foster steadily, “I didn’t tell him, but I think he did know.”

He stopped and Alice looked down at the table for a moment.  Then she looked up again and met his fixed gaze.

“After all, you would have liked to have my gratitude?”

There was something in her face that stirred his blood, and forgetting his drawbacks he made a reckless plunge.

“I wanted it tremendously, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Not enough!  Aren’t you rather hard to satisfy?” she asked with a hint of pride that deceived but did not stop him.

“I’m afraid I’m very rash,” he answered quietly.  “You see, I wanted your love; I wanted you.  But I was afraid to ask.”