good night; I sha'n't be long.'

Edith was really delighted, she felt she had won, and she _did_ want
that horrid little Townsend to be scored off! Wasn't it natural? She
wanted to hear no more about it.

There was a ring. It was nine o'clock. It was Aylmer's voice.



CHAPTER XXI

The Great Exception

The absurdly simple explanation, made almost in dumb show, by action
rather than in dialogue, was soon given. He was surprised, simply
enchanted, at the entire frankness of her recognition; she acknowledged
openly that it mattered to her tremendously whether or not he was on
intimate terms or flirting with little Miss Argles, or with little Miss
anybody. He was not even to look at any woman except herself, that was
arranged between them now and understood. They were side by side, with
hands clasped as a matter of course, things taken for granted that he
formerly never dreamt of. The signs of emotion in her face he
attributed of course to the morning's contretemps, knowing nothing of
the other trouble.

'It's heavenly being here again. You're prettier than ever, Edith;
sweeter than ever. What a time I had away. It got worse and worse.'

'Dear Aylmer!'