At luncheon, Owen's radiant countenance proclaimed the happy
sequel, and Darrow, when the party had moved back to the
oak-room for coffee, deemed it discreet to wander out alone
to the terrace with his cigar. The conclusion of Owen's
romance brought his own plans once more to the front. Anna
had promised that she would consider dates and settle
details as soon as Madame de Chantelle and her grandson had
been reconciled, and Darrow was eager to go into the
question at once, since it was necessary that the
preparations for his marriage should go forward as rapidly
as possible. Anna, he knew, would not seek any farther
pretext for delay; and he strolled up and down contentedly
in the sunshine, certain that she would come out and
reassure him as soon as the reunited family had claimed its
due share of her attention.
But when she finally joined him her first word was for the
younger lovers.
"I want to thank you for what you've done for Owen," she
began, with her happiest smile.
"Who--I?" he laughed. "Are you confusing me with Miss
Painter?"
"Perhaps I ought to say for ME," she corrected herself.
"You've been even more of a help to us than Adelaide."
"My dear child! What on earth have I done?"
"You've managed to hide from Madame de Chantelle that you
don't really like poor Sophy."
Darrow felt the pallour in his cheek. "Not like her? What
put such an idea into your head?"
"Oh, it's more than an idea--it's a feeling.
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