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"They want you to come to luncheon to-day. Will you? I will come and fetch you."

"Of course. I will be delighted. What time?"

"I'll come about half-past twelve. We might walk, if you don't mind."

"Yes, I'll like that."

"All right. Half-past twelve. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Wildherne."

She stood there staring in front of her. She was thinking of the Duke's happiness. That was one good thing that she had done, one splendid thing; she had made the finest old man in the country gloriously happy, and she would see that that happiness continued. If she were not happy herself, at least she could make others so.

And then, quite unexpectedly, happiness bubbled up in her own heart. She could be, on an instant, like a little child, naïve, pleased with the smallest thing, credulous, buoyant. That came from the simple sincerity of her character. She had always been much simpler than her sister.

After all, there would be very pleasant consequences of this affair—power and friends and comfort and ease from anxiety.