It surprised no one, and gave considerable satisfaction to her relations, when Esme, quite soon after Sinclair's return to South Africa, was married to the man who had been her faithful lover for over eight years. On the evening before her marriage she discussed the matter and her feelings quite frankly with Rose. "I'm not in love with George," she said, regarding her sister earnestly; "and I'm not marrying him out of pity. I think chiefly it was a phrase he used which got me: `We are both of us rather lonely people.' ... That was how he put it. And suddenly while he spoke a picture of the lonely years ahead for us flashed across my imagination. It's true, you know; we are lonely; and we are both still young." "Yes," Rose agreed. "I'm glad you see it like that. I've hated to think of you alone always." "It's a little selfish, and altogether futile, to live wholly in the past," Esme resumed after a pause. "My love for Paul is a sacred memory; but it should not prevent me from making George happy. He is satisfied to take the risk." "George is a wise man," Rose responded; "he doesn't underrate his power to win your love. You'll grow very fond of him, Esme; he is a lovable fellow." "I am fond of him," Esme answered. "Do you suppose I would marry him otherwise? I am bidding good-bye to the old life to-night, my dear; I am not dragging it with me into the life which begins to-morrow. I feel as though I were beginning all over again. It's a big break, you know." "I know." Rose's gaze travelled round the comfortable, homelike room, which from to-morrow would be deserted, and would ultimately pass to strangers. Henceforward Esme would live in Uitenhage, where George's work was. He had furnished a house for her, and bought a car. The sight of the car, which he purposed learning to drive, had reconciled John to his aunt's second marriage. John's mother, while she gazed about her, was thinking of many things, other than motors, which might change and brighten her sister's life. There was the possibility of children. Esme had always desired children. A baby's tiny hands would speedily heal old wounds; the feel of baby lips would stifle all regrets. In Rose's opinion this marriage was altogether desirable; it closed the past completely. In a sense it seemed to her that her sister's life was only now beginning. The curtain had rung down on the prologue, and was about to rise for the first act of the actual drama.