They stared at one another, utterly surprised. It was four months now since Caroline had come home, and the idea of a marriage between their father and Ella had been discussed between them. Since then they had come to take it quite for granted. Ella had been in London ever since, except for two week-end visits to Surley, and one to Abington, when there had been so large a party of relations and friends that it had seemed as if the occasion would be chosen to make an announcement. That was a month ago, at Whitsuntide. Neither of them had seen Ella since, and their father had only once been down to Abington. "Sir John Ambleside," said Caroline. "That's the Beckleys' cousin, that Jimmy told Bunting about. But--" "Poor old Daddy. He's running away," said Beatrix. "But how beastly of her!" They tried to adjust their recollections. They had taken it for granted. Had they had reason, or had they been mistaken all the time? "Of course, she's never given a hint," said Caroline. "Oh, my dear! You saw how she was with him at Whitsuntide." "Not really very different from what she has always been. Perhaps gayer, and rather more at home. At least we thought so." "I'm sure the poor old darling was in love with her. He was as happy as a king all that time. _I_ know the signs." "But nothing happened. Surely, if it had been as we thought they would have got engaged then, or before." "Perhaps he was waiting until he was quite certain, and this has happened since--her falling in love with that other man. _I_ shan't congratulate her. I think she has behaved very badly. _Poor_ old Daddy! It's frightfully rough luck on him." "He doesn't want anything said about it, though. I wish he hadn't gone away alone. I'm glad he's going to take Barbara away when he comes back." "I wish I knew exactly what had happened." "Perhaps Aunt Mary will have heard something. We shall see her to-day. She will certainly have something to say about it." They lunched with Lady Grafton, and she had a good deal to say about it. The announcement of the engagement had appeared in the 'Morning Post' that morning, and had taken her by surprise, though she would not admit quite how much it had taken her by surprise. "He's been dancing after her," she said; "but nobody thought she would accept him. You know I blame you two girls more than anybody." "Of course you do, darling," said Beatrix. "But we should like to know why, all the same." "You've stuck up your noses at it. Poor dear George, like most men of his age who are in love, is sensitive to ridicule. He never could bring himself up to the point of proposing because he was afraid that he'd look like a fool. That party at the Abbey was the greatest possible mistake. I said so at the time." "Who did you say it to, darling?" asked Beatrix. "You told me that it was the very thing to bring it on. But I suppose you thought I was in a delicate state and must be humoured."