We were, therefore, in what is called the thick of it when a shuffling and laughing were heard from the hall. Suspending our remarks to look up in curiosity we saw Lydia come in leading Drinkwater. From the festive note in their costumes Miss Averill leaped to a conclusion. "_No!_" she cried, as the two stood giggling sheepishly before her tea-table. "You _haven’t_?" "We _have_." The statement was his. "I talked him into it," Lydia declared, laughingly. "He didn’t want to, but I was afraid that if I didn’t tie him by the leg he’d fly the coop." "But," I asked, "what about your great career?" "Oh, well, I’ve put that off a bit. I can always take it up again. Anyhow, you never heard of an adventuress who wasn’t married. She doesn’t have to stay married; but a single woman who’s an adventuress gets nowhere. The Russian countess in ’The Scarlet Sin’ had been married twice, first to a professor—that ’d be Harry—and then to a count. I can begin looking forward to the count right now, because Harry is what you may call a thing of the past." When they giggled themselves out again, to go and give the news to some one else, Miss Averill said, whole-heartedly: "Well, I’m glad!" Thinking of Vio and Stroud I asked why. "Because Lydia is safe for a while anyhow." "Didn’t you think she was safe already?" "Not wholly. There was _some one_." "Some one she liked?" "No, some one she didn’t like. That was the funny part of it. But about four or five months ago she came to me with so incoherent a tale that I couldn’t make anything out of it. There was a man, a gentleman she said he was, who wanted her to go off with him; and to save some one else she began to think she ought to do it. I really can’t tell you what it was, because I couldn’t get it straight; only there was a wild, foolish, lovely idea of self-sacrifice in it, and now it’s over. _He_ won’t get her; and if ever any one deserved an exquisite thing like her it’s Harry Drinkwater. He can’t see how pretty she is, of course; but he gets the essence of beauty that is more than physical." We dropped the terms of peace and the League of Nations and frankly discussed love. I had already told her that for me, notwithstanding all the conditions, there was no woman in the world but Vio. "And for me," she laughed, "there’s—there’s Lohengrin." My expression must have betrayed my curiosity, because she went on: "Haven’t I told you that it’s all a matter for ourselves whether the blessings of existence are ours or not; and what blessing is greater than a good husband when one wants one? When Elsa was in need of a defender she went down on her knees, a method of expressing her point of view, and he came right out of the clouds. There’s always a Lohengrin for every woman born, and there’s always an Elsa for every man, and whether or not they find each other largely rests on their understanding of the source from which Elsas and Lohengrins come."