"I'm not supposed to tell, but I have it on the best authority that it
will be announced next week, and the wedding will take place in
November. I suppose they'll ask Joe Dauntless to be an usher," said
Mrs. Carter.
"Hello! Joe's gone outside. He must have heard something we said,"
said Rolfe, setting his highball glass down with a thump.
"Oh, if he had only been educated at Cambridge instead of in
Cambridge," mourned Mrs. Carter.
It was true that the tall, good-looking Mr. Dauntless had left the
room, but not because he had heard the comments of his friends. He was
standing on the wind-swept verandah, peering through the mist toward a
distant splash of light across the ravine to the right of the club
grounds. The fog and mist combined to run the many lights of the
Thursdale windows into a single smear of colour a few shades brighter
than the darkness from which it protruded. Dauntless's heart was
inside that vague, impressionistic circle of colour, but his brain was
very much in evidence on the distant outside. What were the workings
of that eager brain will soon be revealed--to the reader, at least, if
not to the occupants of the rain-bound clubhouse.
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