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Miss Alice heard the news of John’s summons by his possible publisher with a generous enthusiasm that made Rosamund feel rather guilty.

“You see, it isn’t only that I appreciate what this could mean to your joint future, but also because it always delights me when someone with a creative gift receives the encouragement that makes all the hard slogging they’ve done seem so very well worth while! I know. I went through it myself. And though John’s gift and mine are totally different, they have this in common—we both do creative work. Something we spin out of our entrails as a spider does its web. Do you understand what that means, Rosamund?”

“That it’s part of you,” Rosamund said seriously. “And so you’ve
got
to do it because, if you don’t, it would be like making a perfectly well person being made to live the life of an invalid. You wouldn’t be
whole
.”

“Yes, that’s just it,” Miss Alice agreed, but she wondered a little. Was what Rosamund had just said the outcome of an understanding deeper than one would expect from a young girl who was outside the charmed circle to which John with his writing and she with her painting belonged? Or was it just the repetition of what John himself had already explained? A little of both, perhaps, but at any rate, the child did understand, which augured well for their future together. She realised that Rosamund was speaking again and gave her all her attention, though the topic had now changed to a less important one.

“I’m thinking of going into Bath tomorrow,” Rosamund said so casually that, again, Miss Alice wondered a little. Wasn’t it just
too
casual?

“Oh yes?”

“Yes. It’s an opportunity, while John’s away, to do a few odd bits of shopping and I thought I might have my hair shampooed. It’s getting a bit dry with all this sunshine. Of course—” Rosamund felt that she was gabbling a bit now and that it all sounded artificial, but she ploughed on—“I may not be able to find a hairdresser with any free time, but I’ll just have to take a chance.”

“Quite,” Miss Alice said equably. “In other words, you don’t really know how long you’ll be.”

“No, I don’t,” Rosamund only just suppressed a sigh of relief at the easy acceptance of her announcement. “But I’ll start off as early as I can so that I’m not too late back. Is there anything you want me to get for you while I’m there?”

“I don’t think so, dear. In any case, you’ll have your hands full getting through everything you want to yourself, won’t you?”

Rosamund looked at her quickly. It was the most natural remark in the world and yet some quality in the way in which Miss Alice had spoken suggested that she suspected there was something more to the trip than a mild shopping spree.

“Or else it’s that I feel mean at deceiving her,” Rosamund wondered uncomfortably. “I wish I could explain—but it just isn’t possible—and it isn’t as if we’re doing anything
wrong
—”

Having reassured herself on that point, she went to the galley and began preparations for the meal which, fortunately, was a simple one, for she only gave half her mind to her work.

But how could she help that when John was occupying all her heart and a large part of her thoughts? The incredible wonder of it! He loved her. And that wasn’t all. He trusted her. He must do, for the beastly things Aunt Ruth had said about her hadn’t made any impression at all on him!. How
heavenly
life was—and it was going to be even better, for in a few days’ time she would be John’s wife! Happiness bubbled up in her and she began to sing softly to herself for the sheer joy of living.

Miss Alice heard the blithe little song and momentarily the tears sprang to her eyes. It was such a young sound and so confident—indeed, with all her heart she
did
wish them well, particularly this girl that she had taken under her wing. For her, she wanted happiness and security—all the good things of life. And much as she liked John, she wasn’t entirely sure that Rosamund had made a wise choice—

She pulled herself up with a jerk.

“I’m an old fool,” she told herself severely. “I’m being possessive, that’s the trouble! I don’t want her to fly away yet and so I’m inventing reasons why it would be better that she didn’t. But it’s no use. Once people grow up, they have to take their chance and there’s nothing one can do about it. Thank goodness, there’s no talk about them getting married yet! That really
would
have worried me!”

*

“Yes, we can fit you in this morning, madam,” the receptionist told Rosamund. “One of our ladies had to make a last-minute cancellation, but I’m afraid it’s not for another hour and a half—?”

“That will do beautifully,” Rosamund assured her. “It will give me time to do some shopping.”

“And your name, madam?”

“Hastings. Oh, will you tell the assistant who will be looking after me that my hair is very dry so that she’ll know what sort of shampoo to give me?”

“Certainly, Miss Hastings. At eleven-thirty, then,” the receptionist smiled, and Rosamund went out into the sunny street feeling that this was quite evidently going to be her lucky day.

The feeling was intensified a little later when she found just the dress she was looking for. One couldn’t really say that it looked particularly like a wedding dress, yet its white simplicity struck a note which seemed just right to Rosamund. She smiled as she looked at her reflection. John, she thought, would like it, though Aunt Ruth, if she were to see it, would probably dismiss it as a rag!

The thought of her aunt made Rosamund remember all the fashionable weddings which the Salon had dressed—the silks and laces, the embroidery—the yards and yards of tulle and the way in which even the plainest girls seemed to blossom into something like beauty in their bridal finery.

Yet she had no envy for any of them, for after all, none of them had married John! She bought another two dresses, one blue, the other green, cotton. Just the thing for a honeymoon on a barge! She completed her purchases with a pair of white shoes with silvery buckles and then went back to the hairdressers.

The assistant who looked after her did her job well, but she was something of a chatterbox and Rosamund wasn’t sorry when she was left to herself under the drier. Content to let her thoughts drift happily, the time passed quickly and with ample time to spare before she rang John up, she stopped for a thoroughly feminine lunch of a poached egg, fruit salad and coffee. Then the Abbey clock struck the hour and it was time to phone John. She dialled the number he had given her and his voice answered immediately.

“Rosamund darling!” There was a lilt in the way he said it which told its own story. Everything was all right! So she was not surprised when he went on: “It’s all set! No difficulty at all. I’ve got the licence and we can be married in any church we like right way!”

“Oh, John!” Rosamund was half laughing, half crying with happiness. “How wonderful!”

“Isn’t it?” he agreed. “So—when, darling?”

“Whenever you say,” she told him unhesitatingly.

“Bless you!” There was a caress in his voice and her heart swelled with tenderness. “Then how about Thursday?”

“Perfect!” she sparkled.

“And where?” he went on.

“I don’t mind, John. Just so long as we do get married!”

“We’ll do that all right,” he assured her confidently. “Now, how do you like this idea—I’ll be home tomorrow and then, on Thursday morning, we’ll start off very early and drive until we find a nice old village church we like the look of. Then we’ll rustle up the Rector and persuade him to do the job—”

“Persuade?” Rosamund said quickly.

“Well, it’s going to be very short notice—he may have other engagements,” John explained.

“Yes, of course. I hadn’t thought of that.” She hesitated momentarily. “John, what are we going to do about Miss Alice? I mean, we can’t just vanish without giving her some explanation, can we?”

“No, I suppose not,” he admitted reluctantly. “But we did decide that we wouldn’t tell anybody, didn’t we? And anyhow, we’ll be coming back the same day—look, I tell you what, we’ll tell her that we’re going off for an all-day' picnic and not to worry if we’re late getting back. How’s that?”

“Yes,” Rosamund agreed, relieved. “And we’ll have a
picnic and that will make it true!”

John laughed softly.

“You’re a truthful little soul, aren’t you?” he said, and then, with sudden earnestness: “You don’t know how much that means to me, Rosamund! Don’t ever change, will you?”

“No, I won’t,” she promised seriously. “Oh, John, I am happy!”

“So am I!” And then, rather ruefully: “But I’ll be even happier if my interview this afternoon is satisfactory.”

"It will be,” Rosamund assured him serenely. “I’m quite, quite sure it will be. Don’t you realise, our star is in the ascendant? Nothing
can
go wrong!”

“Hey, keep your fingers crossed when you say that!” John advised, and Rosamund was not quite sure whether his alarm was genuine or pretence. “You don’t want the gods to be jealous, do you?”

She laughed confidently.

“That’s just superstition,” she scoffed. ‘‘You’ll see—and now I must ring off, John. Somebody is waiting for the phone. Goodbye, darling. I’ll be thinking of you all the time and wishing you luck!”

“That should do the trick if anything will!” John said gratefully. “ ’Bye now, darling! See you tomorrow!”

There was a little smile on Rosamund’s face as she left the telephone box. It was so wonderful to feel that John relied on her and turned to her for reassurance. And equally wonderful, that for the rest of their lives, she would have John to rely on.

She walked to the car park where she had left her car and putting her purchases carefully on to the back seat, began her homeward journey. When she reached the village, she stopped outside the shop and went inside to ask Mrs. Watchett if there were any letters for Miss Alice.

Mrs. Watchett, engaged in cutting up a side of bacon into joints, wiped her hands on her voluminous apron and reached behind herself to the shelf where letters to be called for were put until they were claimed.

“Two, miss.” She inspected first one and then the other so earnestly that Rosamund began to wonder if she had X-ray eyes and was able to read the letters through the envelopes without opening them. Then, reluctantly, she doled them out to Rosamund. “And one for you, miss,” she added unexpectedly, reaching to the little shelf again.

“For me!” Rosamund was too much surprised to hide the fact, and Mrs. Watchett’s eagle eyes raked her mercilessly.

“Miss Rosamund Hastings,” she pronounced. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” Rosamund confirmed, her heart sinking. She knew that it could only be from Aunt Ruth because no one else knew where she was, and a glance at the neat, angular handwriting told her that she was right.

“Nothing wrong, is there, miss?” Mrs. Watchett asked, agog with curiosity. “You look quite pale.”

“I always do when it’s very hot,” Rosamund said mechanically. “Thank you, Mrs. Watchett!” And made her escape.

She drove down the lane and turned into Joblings' field. There, in the lee of the old bam, she picked up her letter from the seat beside her, but even then she couldn’t find the courage immediately to open it. Then, with sudden resolution, she tore the envelope open and took the letter out. After all, no matter how unpleasant she might be, what real harm could Aunt Ruth do now?

She began to read:

“Dear Rosamund,

“Clearly, you're not such a fool as I thought you were
.
In fact, I congratulate you on a campaign very cleverly planned and skilfully executed”

Rosamund paused, frowning. What on earth was Aunt Ruth talking about? A campaign? It didn’t make sense. She read on:

"
However, a word of warning
.
Your young man, tired of the sort of popularity which his money brought him {particularly among his girl-friends) vanished from his usual haunts a few weeks ago. Just how you managed to run him to ground I don’t know, but to represent yourself as a damsel in distress while keeping your knowledge as to his identity to yourself was really clever
.
I’d be proud to have thought of it myself."

Rosamund shook her head impatiently. Really, Aunt Ruth must be crazy! But, horribly fascinated, she read on:

“And here I would like to say that I bear you no grudge for having represented me as the bad fairy. Your act was quite brilliant—he didn’t have a chance!

“But that warning I spoke of—no man likes to know that he’s been made a fool of by a woman, so take care that your knight errant
never
discovers how clever you’ve been. He wouldn’t forgive you, believe me! And if, at times, you find it boring to keep on playing the beggar maid to his King Cophetua, remember that there are and always will be plenty of women only too eager to step into your shoes
!

“Every good wish for your future success
.

Ruth Hastings.”

“P.S. Of course, you’ll come to me to be dressed."

Rosamund folded the letter with hands that would shake, despite her conviction that Aunt Ruth had made the whole thing up just to create trouble.

John, wealthy, and herself a fortune-hunter! What utter rubbish! It wasn’t worth another thought.

Then, as she put the letter back into its envelope, she saw that there was a slip of paper still in it which she had previously missed.

She took it out and caught her breath.

It was a photograph, obviously cut from the pages of a glossy society periodical, of a young man incredibly like John. For a moment the picture blurred dizzily. Then, forcing her eyes into focus, she read the caption below it.

It
was
John.

"John Lindsay, only son of the late Gordon Lindsay. Mr. Lindsay, whose tragic death occurred recently when piloting his Pippet IV plane, was
,
of course, a financier of international repute. John (‘Johnny' to his friends), a popular young man with a gift for enjoying himself, is, needless to say
,
regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors of the day.”