The elderly ladies came forward and spoke their pleasant words of congratulation.  Mrs. Holmes and others, encouraged, followed their example.  Mrs. Boyce suddenly swooped from the platform into the middle of the group and kissed Betty, who emerged from the excited lady’s embrace blushing furiously.  She shook hands with Betty’s aunts and thanked them for their presence; and in the old lady’s mind the reconciliation of the two houses was complete.  Then, with cheeks of a more delicate natural pink than any living valetudinarian of her age could boast of, and with glistening eyes, she made her way to me, and reaching up and drawing me down, kissed me, too.

While all this was going on, the body of the hall began to empty.  The programme had arranged for nothing more by way of ceremonial to take place.  But a public gathering always hopes for something unexpected, and, when it does not happen, takes its disappointment philosophically.  I think Betty’s action must have shown them that the rest of the proceedings were to be purely private and informal.

The platform also gradually thinned, until at last, looking round, I saw that only Sir Anthony and Lady Fenimore and Winterbotham, the Town Clerk, remained.  Then Lady Fenimore joined us.  We were about a score, myself perched on the edge and corner of the platform, the rest standing on the floor of the hall in a sector round me, Marigold, of course, in the middle of them by my side, like an ill-graven image.  As soon as she could Lady Fenimore came up to me.

“Don’t you think it splendid of Betty Connor to bury the hatchet so publicly?” she whispered.

“The war,” said I, “is a solvent of many human complications.”

“It is indeed.”  Then she added:  “I am going to have a little dinner party some time soon for the Boyces.  I sounded him to-day and he practically promised.  I’ll ask the Lalehams.  Of course you’ll come.  Now that things have shown themselves so topsy-turvy I’ve been wondering whether I should ask Betty.”

“Does Anthony know of this dinner party?” I enquired.

“What does it matter whether he does or not?” she laughed.  “Dinner parties come within my province and I’m mistress of it.”

Of course Boyce had half promised.  What else could he do without discourtesy?  But the banquet which, in her unsuspecting innocence she proposed, seemed to me a horrible meal.  Doubtless it would seem so to Sir Anthony.  At the moment I did not know whether he intended to tell Gedge’s story to his wife.  At any rate, hitherto, he had not done so.

“All the same, my dear Edith,” I replied, “Anthony may have a word to say.  I happen to know he has no particular personal friendship for Boyce, who, if you’ll forgive my saying so, has treated you rather cavalierly for the past two years.  Anthony’s welcome to-day was purely public and official.  It had nothing to do with his private feelings.”

“But they have changed.  He was referring to the matter only this morning at breakfast and suggesting things we could do to lighten the poor man’s affliction.”