“Taking it all in all,” Sarah went on reflectively, “he might be a lot worse. He wouldn’t do for me, and I shouldn’t have said that he’d do for you either. Still . . . S’pose I’ll be congratulating you ere long?”

“Oh, do be quiet!” begged Elizabeth, rosy-cheeked.

Sarah rose to go.

“Well, I think you’re jolly lucky,” she remarked.

Everybody seemed to think that, although no one was so outspoken as Sarah. Lawrence cast up his eyes comically when Stephen’s impetuous knock sounded on the front-door, and murmured,

“Oh, Elizabeth, Elizabeth! I suppose I shall be de trop now?”

And Miss Arden smiled as at a hidden thought, and gave Elizabeth’s hand a little squeeze.

She was a heroine of romance all at once, and all things were forgiven her on the score that she was in love. She had never before felt so important, nor taken so prominent and conspicuous a place in the opinions of her relatives. It was embarrassing sometimes, but always delightful.

And how much more important she would be if she married Stephen and became mistress of a house of her own. Aunt Anne would have to admit then that she was really and truly grown-up, and no one would be able to say, Elizabeth, go and tidy your room, as though she were still only a little girl. More than that: once she was married she could do anything she liked without reproach, all the little things that a girl could not do. She would always have a partner at hand, and she would be able to give parties of her own without having first to ask permission.

She saw herself ordering her own groceries, and superintending her own maids. That would be fun. She would pour Stephen’s coffee out at breakfast, and say all the proper wifely things to him. And he would talk to her about his new book; perhaps, even, he would read passages to her and ask her advice.

Then the tiny fear sprang up again, How shall I hold my own with his mother and .his sister? I am not of his world. The fear was hateful, and grew larger as she dwelt upon it. She brushed it aside then, thinking, I am not marrying them; it will not matter. She gave herself up to romantic imaginings, and presently saw herself, married to Stephen, a transformed being, no longer shy, no longer tongue-tied or ignorant, but the woman she longed to be and would never be.

She began to count the days that had passed since she had met Stephen. It was three months, only that, a very little time in which to learn to know a man. She wondered whether she did know Stephen, and whether any girl knew her man before she was irrevocably tied to him. By devious paths she approached Miss Arden with this question, saying nervously at last.