I recall that the duke's hand
was on my shoulder, and that--odd how one's attitude can change!--I
liked to feel it. We were going to be great friends, tremendous pals, I
suspected. And every time I looked at the duchess she seemed lovelier,
more gracious; she was the very wife I would have chosen for such a
corking chap.
This, however, was by the way. None of it really mattered. While I paid
compliments and supplied details as to my convalescence and answered
Dunny's chaffing, I saw only one member of the party, the girl in white.
She was rather silent; she gave me only fugitive glances. But she wasn't
engaged, at least not to the Firefly. Hurrah!
What an agonizing, heart-rending, utterly unnecessary experience I had
endured, now that I thought of it! I had jumped to conclusions with the
agility of a kangaroo. He had kissed her; she had allowed it. Did that
prove that he was her fiance? He might have been anything--her cousin
or an old friend of her childhood, or her sister's husband's nephew. But
brother-in-law was best of all, not too remote or yet too close.
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