“I had an early feed and came out hoping to see you,” he concluded.

Mavis did not speak.  She was deliberating if she should tell Windebank of her approaching marriage; if he cared seriously for her, it was only fair that he should know her affections were bestowed.

“Aren’t you glad to see me?” he asked.

“Of course, but—­”

“There are no ‘buts.’  You’re coming home with me.”

“Home!”

“To meet my people again.  They’re just back from Switzerland.  It isn’t your home—­yet.”

This decided her.  She told him, first enjoining him to silence.  To her relief, also to her surprise, he took it very calmly.  His face went a shade whiter beneath his sun-tanned skin; he stood a trifle more erect than before; and that was all.

“I congratulate you,” he said.  “But I congratulate him a jolly sight more.  Who is he?”

Mavis hesitated.

“You can tell me.  It won’t go any further.”

“Charlie Perigal.”

“Charlie Perigal?” he asked in some surprise.

“Why not?” she asked, with a note of defiance in her voice.

“But he’s upside down with his father, and has been for a long time.”

“What of that?”

“What are you going to live on?”

“Charlie is going to work.”

“Charlie work!” The words slipped out before he could stop them.  “Of course, I’d forgotten that,” he added.

“You’re like a lot of other people, who can’t say a good word for him, because they’re jealous of him,” she cried.

He did not reply for a moment; when he did, it was to say very gravely: 

“Naturally I am very, very jealous; it would be strange if it were otherwise.  I wish you every happiness from the bottom of my heart.”

“Thank you,” replied Mavis, mollified.

“And God bless you.”

He took off his cap and left her.  Mavis watched his tall form turn the corner with a sad little feeling at her heart.  But love is a selfish passion, and when Mavis awoke three mornings later, when it wanted four days to her marriage, she would have forgotten Windebank’s existence, but for the fact of his having sent her a costly, gold-mounted dressing-case.  This had arrived the previous evening, at the same time as the frock that she proposed wearing at her wedding had come from Bathminster.  She looked once more at the dressing-case with its sumptuous fittings, to turn to the wrappings enclosing her simple wedding gown.  She took it out reverently, tenderly, to kiss it before locking the door and trying it on again.  With quick, loving hands she fastened it about her; she then looked at the reflection of her adorable figure in the glass.

“Will he like me in it?  Do you think he will love me in it?” she asked Jill, who, blinking her brown eyes, was scarcely awake.  She then took Jill in her arms to murmur: 

“Whatever happens, darling, I shall always love you.”