Quietly she slipped aside and looked at them, and neither saw the strange, proud glow that came like a flash of fire into her eyes.  They were wonderful, these two strong men who were hers.  And in this moment they were her own.  Neither spoke for a space, as they stood, hand clasping hand, and in that space, brief as it was, she saw that they measured each other as completely as man ever measured man; and that it was not satisfaction alone, but something deeper and more wonderful to her, that began to show in their faces.  It was as if they had forgotten her presence in this meeting, and for a moment she, too, forgot that everything was not real.  Moved by an impulse that made her breath quicken, she darted to them and caught their two clasped hands in both her own.  Her face was glorious as she looked up at them,

“I’m glad, glad that you like each other,” she cried softly.  “I knew that it would be so, because—­”

The master of Adare House had drawn her to him again.  She put out a hand, and it rested on Philip’s shoulder.  Her eyes turned directly to him, and he alone saw the swift ebbing of the joyous light from them.  John Adare’s voice rumbled happily, and with his grizzled face bowed in Josephine’s hair he said: 

“I guess I’m not sorry—­but glad, Mignonne.”  He looked at Philip again.  “Paul, my son, you are welcome to Adare House!”

“Philip, Mon Pere,” corrected Josephine.  “I like that better than Paul.”

“And you?” said Philip, smiling straight into Adare’s eyes.  “I am almost afraid to keep my promise to Josephine.  It was that I should call you mon pere, too.”

“There was one other promise, Philip,” replied Adare quickly.  “There must have been one other promise, that you would never take my girl away from me.  If you did not swear to that, I am your enemy!”

“That promise was unnecessary,” said Philip.  “Outside of my Josephine’s world there is nothing for me.  If there is room for me in Adare House—­”

“Room!” interrupted Adare, beginning to throw off his great fur coat.  “Why, I’ve dreamed of the day when there’d be half a dozen babies under my feet.  I—­” His huge frame suddenly stiffened.  He looked at Josephine, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper:  “Where’s the kid?” he asked.

Philip saw Josephine turn at the question.  Silently she pointed to the curtained bed.  As her father moved toward it she went to the door, but not before Philip had taken a step to intercept her.  He felt her shuddering.

“I must go to my mother,” she whispered for him alone.  “I will return soon.  If he asks—­tell him that we named the baby after him.”  With a swift glance in her father’s direction she whispered still lower:  “He knows nothing about you, so you may tell him the truth about yourself—­except that you met me in Montreal eighteen months ago, and married me there.”

With this warning she was gone.  From the curtains Philip heard a deep breath.  When he came to the other’s side John Adare stood staring down upon the sleeping baby.