Out on the terrace the night was very still. From a steel-blue sky
the stars looked down as calmly as they had looked on the night of
the ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery listening to the
wailing of the music and thinking long thoughts. From the dark
meadows by the brook came the cry of a corncrake, its harsh note
softened by distance.
"What shall we do?" said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seat
where Reggie Byng had sat and meditated on his love for Alice
Faraday and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approach-shots. To
George, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in the
darkness. He could not see her face.
"I don't know!" he said frankly.
Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Keggs, the
butler, he had been completely overwhelmed by Lord Marshmoreton's
dramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him unheralded
by any warning, and had found him unequal to it.
A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that was
Maud. In the stillness it sounded like some loud noise. It jarred
on George's disturbed nerves.
"Please!"
"I c-can't help it!"
"There's nothing to cry about, really! If we think long enough, we
shall find some way out all right. Please don't cry."
"I'm not crying!" The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple of
mirth. "It's so absurd! Poor father getting up like that in front
of everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline's face?"
"It haunts me still," said George. "I shall never forget it. Your
brother didn't seem any too pleased, either."
Maud stopped laughing.
"It's an awful position," she said soberly. "The announcement will
be in the Morning Post the day after tomorrow. And then the letters
of congratulation will begin to pour in. And after that the
presents. And I simply can't see how we can convince them all that
there has been a mistake." Another aspect of the matter struck her.
"It's so hard on you, too."
"Don't think about me," urged George. "Heaven knows I'd give the
whole world if we could just let the thing go on, but there's no
use discussing impossibilities." He lowered his voice. "There's no
use, either, in my pretending that I'm not going to have a pretty
bad time. But we won't discuss that. It was my own fault. I came
butting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens,
it's been worth it to have known you and tried to be of service to
you."
"You're the best friend I've ever had."
"I'm glad you think that."