“We won’t discuss that,” she said. “We’ll stick to Aunt Mary. Aunt Mary is a rock whose foundation is firm; when it comes to your relations toward other women—” she stopped, shrugging her shoulders, and he understood. “But it’s going to come out all right now, I’m sure,” she went on after a minute, “and I’m so glad—so very glad—that the chance was given to me to right the wrong that I was the cause of.” [Illustration: “‘And now the fun’s all over and the work begins,’ she said, looking down.”] He looked at her and his eyes almost burned, they were so strong in their leaping desire to fling himself at her feet and adore her goodness and sweetness and worldliness and wisdom from that vantage-ground of worship. She choked a little at the glance and put her hands together in her lap with a quick catching at self-control. “And now the fun’s all over and the work begins,” she said, looking down. “I know that,” he asseverated. She lifted up her eyes and looked at him so very kindly. And then—after a little pause to gain command of word and thought she spoke again, slowly. “Listen,” she said, this time very softly, but very seriously. “I want to tell you one thing and I want to tell it to you now. I had a good and sufficient reason for helping you out with Aunt Mary; but—” She hesitated. “But?” he asked. “But I’ve no reason at all for helping your Aunt Mary out with you, unless you prove worthy of her, and—” “And?” She looked at him, and shook her head slightly. “I won’t say ‘and of me,’” she said finally. “Why not?” he asked, a storm of tempestuous impatience raging behind his lips. “Do say it,” he pleaded. “No, I can’t say it. It wouldn’t be right. I don’t mean it, and so I won’t say it. I’ll only tell you that I can promise nothing as things are, and that unless you go at life from now on with a tremendous energy I never shall even dream of a possible promising.” He rose to his feet and towered above her, tall and straight and handsome, and very grave. “All right,” he said simply. “I’ll remember.” Ever so much later that evening he rose to bid her good-night. “Whatever comes, you’ve been an angel to me,” he said in that hasty five seconds that her hand was his. “Shall I ever regret it?” she asked, looking up to his eyes. “Never,” he declared earnestly, “never, never. I can swear that, and I shall be able to swear the same thing when I’m as old as my Aunt Mary.” Mrs. Rosscott lowered her eyes. “Who could ask more?” she said softly. “I could,” said Jack—“but I’ll wait first.” Chapter Nineteen Aunt Mary’s Return Joshua was at the station to meet his mistress, and Lucinda, full to the brim with curiosity, sat on the back seat of the carryall.