Jean smiled into space, blissfully unconscious of the pain on her father's face. He was not a demonstrative man, and no one but himself knew how he had loved and cherished this child of his youth--the daughter who had inherited the beauty and charm of the girl-wife with whom he had spent the golden year of his life. To his own heart he acknowledged that Jean was his dearest possession--dearer than wife, dearer than sons, dearer than life itself, and Jean could leave him without a pang--would "rather like" to put the width of the world between them! "India's a long way off, Jean. I should miss you if you went." "But we'd come home, father. We'd have a long holiday every five years." Well! well! Mr Goring reminded himself that in his own youth he had been equally callous. He recalled the day of his first marriage, and saw again the twisted face of his mother as she bade him adieu at the door. He had known a pang of regret at the sight, regret for _her_ suffering, her loss; not for his own. For himself, the moment had been one of unalloyed triumph; he had heaved a sigh of relief as the carriage bore him away and he was alone with his bride. It was natural that it should be so--natural and right; but when one came to stand in the parent's place, how it hurt! He set his teeth in endurance. Mrs Goring regarded the engagement and prospective marriage primarily as a disagreeable upset to domestic routine, and did not rest until she had secured Vanna's consent to prolong her visit until the bride had departed. "There will be so much to arrange, endless letters to write, and people to see. Jean will be worse than useless, and poor dear Miss Miggs is not fit to rush about. If you _would_ stay and help, my dear, I should be unutterably grateful. When you undertake a thing it is always well done." "I should like to stay," replied Vanna simply. The first days of Jean's rapturous happiness had been hard for her friend. It was not in human nature to avoid a feeling of loss, of loneliness, of hopeless longing for such happiness for herself, but it was a comfort to know that she could be of real practical help. Jean, of course, had declared in words that nothing, no, nothing, could ever lessen the warmth of her friendship, and Vanna had faith to believe that in the years to come the love between them would increase rather than diminish. In the meantime, however, she must needs stand aside, and be content to be neglected, ignored, regarded at times as an unwelcome intruder--a difficult lesson to learn. At the very first meeting after the engagement the difference of relationship had made itself felt, for Jean had shown a distinct annoyance when Vanna referred to the prophecy of the rose.