What’s the name of the happy man?” Gwen owned to “Fortescue. ’ As a matter of fact, I am not. ” Her father interrupted. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England.
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