He sighed contentedly, and patted Joan's hand. "I'm a happy old fossil, Joey," he said. "I've always schemed in a clumsy way to bring this about, and now it has happened. 'There's a divinity that shapes our ends,' you know. And now, I suppose, you are mistress of this old house. How long have you been married?" "We're not," said Joan in a very small voice. "Not what?" "Married." She held up a ringless hand in corroboration. Jimmy Marrable inspected it. "Where's your engagement ring?" he demanded. Joan felt that there was a bad time coming--especially for Uncle Jimmy. "We--we're not engaged," she faltered. Then she continued swiftly, for there was a look on Jimmy Marrable's brown and wrinkled face that frightened her, and she wanted to get explanations over: "Hughie and I didn't quite care for one another--in that way. No, I'm a liar. _I_ didn't care for Hughie in that way." "He asked you, then?" "Yes." "And you--wouldn't--?" Joan nodded. She suddenly felt unreasonably mean and despicable. She had declined to marry Hughie in all good faith, as she had a perfect right to do, for the very sufficient reason that she did not like him--or his way of putting things--well enough; and she had felt no particular compunction at the time in dealing the blow. But none of these reasons seemed any excuse for hurting Uncle Jimmy. Since then, too, her feelings towards Hughie himself had altered to an extent which she was just beginning to realise. Of late she had found herself taking a quite peculiar interest in Hughie's movements. Why, she hardly knew. He paid her few attentions; he was habitually uncompromising in what he considered the execution of his duty; and he had made a shocking mess of her affairs. But--he was in trouble; people were down on him; and he had been her friend ever since she could remember.