"It ought not to be."

"What do you suggest?"

"N-nothing."

"Nor does anyone else," Rokeby stated.

They were through the first course, and he replenished her glass with
sparkling hock. "Eat, drink, and be merry," he counselled
lachrymosely, "for to-morrow we may be married."

"Never for me."

"That's rash. People are caught--oh! it's the very devil to keep out
of the net."

"What will be the end of things?"

"What things?"

"Marie's and Osborn's."

"My dear Miss Winter, you exaggerate. They'll shake down, and that's
all."

"Will they be happy?"

"You'll have to ask them that, later. But, you see, I know Osborn