“Oh, don’t use that tone!” she said agitatedly, “I didn’t ask him to come here—­I never encouraged him—­why, I never thought of him!  Am I to blame?”

“Look here,” said Silver suddenly.  “You can’t fool me.  You know you love him!”

Martie did not answer.  Her colour had faded, and she looked pale and tired.  She dropped her eyes Pity suddenly filled his own.

“I’m sorry!” the man said quickly; “I’m awfully sorry.  I’ll help you if I can.  He may buck the last moment, but perhaps he won’t.  And you think it over.  Think it all over.  And if you send me a wire one minute before the boat sails—­that’ll be time enough!  We’ll come back.  I’ll keep you informed—­and for God’s sake, wire if you can!”

“We’ll leave it that way,” Martie said gratefully.

“I believe you’ll wire,” Silver said, with another searching look.  She only shrugged her shoulders wearily in answer.

They were silent for a few minutes, and then John came out of the house with his bag in his hand.  Lydia followed him down the steps.

Lydia was somewhat puzzled by the manner of the visitors, but relieved to see that they were not planning to strain the hospitality of the house for lunch.  It was merely a question of thanks and good-byes now, and these she had come forth to receive with dignity.

“Your suitcase is in?” John said to his friend.  He put his own into the rumble, snaps were snapped and locks closed.  He did not look at Martie.  He lifted his cap, and took Lydia’s hand.  “Good-bye, Miss Monroe, and thank you.  Good-bye, Martie.  Everything all right, Dean?”

He got into his seat.  Lydia gave her hand in turn to the novelist.

“You mustn’t count on a visit from this girl here, at Glen Mary,” Lydia said in pleasant warning.  “She’s going to be a pretty busy girl from now on, I expect!”

“So she was saying,” Dean Silver said gravely.  “Our own plans may be changed,” he added casually.  “I may yet persuade Dryden here to sail up the Nile with me!”

“I certainly think any one who has such a wonderful opportunity would be foolish to decline it,” Lydia observed cheerfully.

“Good-bye,” said the writer to Martie.  “You’ll wire me if you can, I know!”

“Good-bye,” she said, hardly conscious of what was being done and said, in the fever of excitement that was consuming her.  “And thank you!”

He jumped into the car.  Martie, trembling, stepped back beside Lydia as the engine began to throb.

“Good-bye, John,” she faltered.  John lifted his cap; the driver waved a gloved hand.

They were gone.

“I’m so glad you told him about your engagement, Martie!” Lydia said approvingly.  “It was the only honest thing to do.  And dear me, isn’t it quite a relief to think that they’ve had their visit, and it’s over, and everything is explained and understood?”

“Isn’t it?” Martie echoed dully.