Then she wondered with a sharp touch of self-reproach what had made her say such a stupid thing—­a thing which might have, and indeed had, two such different meanings?  What she had meant had been that she must forget the hurt surprise she and her husband had felt that Godfrey Radmore, on two separate occasions, had deliberately avoided coming down from London to what had been, after all, so long his home; in fact, as he himself had said just now, the only home he had ever known.

But what was this Betty was saying?—­her face rather drawn and white, all the bright colour drifted out of it—­“Of course we must, Janet!  Besides Godfrey was not to blame—­not at the last.”

Janet knew what Betty meant.  That at the end it was she who had failed him.  But when their engagement had been broken off, Godfrey had been worse than penniless—­in debt, and entirely through his own fault.  He had gambled away what little money he had, and it had ended in his going off to Australia—­alone.

Then an astounding thing had happened.  Godfrey had had a fortune left him by an eccentric old man in whose employment he had been as secretary for a while.  His luck still holding, he had gone through most of the war, including Gallipoli, with only one wound, which had left no ill effects.  A man so fortunate ought not to have neglected his old friends.

Janet Tosswill, the step-mother completely merging into the friend, came forward, and put her arms round the girl’s shoulders.  “Look here, Betty.  Wouldn’t you rather go away?  I don’t suppose he’ll stay longer than Monday or Tuesday—­”

“I shouldn’t think of going away!  I expect he’s forgotten all about that old affair.  It’s a long time ago, Janet—­nine years.  We were both so young, that I’ve forgotten too—­in a sense.”  And then, as she saw that the other was far more moved than she herself was outwardly, she repeated:  “It really has faded away, almost out of sight.  Think of all that has happened since then!”

The other muttered, “Yes, that’s true,” and Betty went on, a little breathlessly, “I’ll tell you who’ll be pleased—­that’s Timmy.  He’s got a regular hero-worship of Godfrey.”  She was smiling now.  “I hope he asked after his godson?”

“Indeed he did.  After Flick too!  By the way he wanted to know if Mrs. Crofton was settled down in The Trellis House.  I wonder if she’s an Australian?”

“I don’t think so,” said Betty.  “I think he met them in Egypt during the war.  He mentioned them in one of his letters to Timmy, and then, when he was in England last year, he must have stayed with them, for that’s where Flick came from.  Colonel Crofton bred terriers.  I remember reading Timmy a long letter signed ‘Cecil Crofton’ telling him all about how to manage Flick, and he mentioned Godfrey.”

“I don’t remember that—­I must have been away.”

They were both glad to have glided on to a safe, indifferent subject.