If she had had any doubts or fears, she knew now that it was too late to act; she saw that it was impossible to change the wills of two such lovers as Jean and Sybil. In a way, she came to understand the story of Jean’s mother more from watching him than by listening to his long explanation. There must be in her that same determination and ardor that was in her son … a thing in its way irresistible. And yet it was difficult; she was afraid, somehow, of this unexpected thing, perhaps because it seemed vaguely like the taint of Savina Pentland.
She said, “If no one knows this, there is no reason to tell it here. It would only make unhappiness for all concerned. It is your business alone … and Sybil’s. The others have no right to interfere, even to know; but they will try, Jean … unless … unless you both do what you want … quickly. Sometimes I think they might do anything.”
“You mean …” he began impatiently.
Olivia fell back upon that vague hint which John Pentland had dropped to her the night before. She said, “There was once an elopement in the Pentland family.”
“You wouldn’t mind that?” he asked eagerly. “You wouldn’t be hurt … if we did it that way?”
“I shouldn’t know anything about it,” said Olivia quietly, “until it was too late to do anything.”
“It’s funny,” he said; “we’d thought of that. We’ve talked of it, only Sybil was afraid you’d want to have a big wedding and all that. …”
“No, I think it would be better not to have any wedding at all … especially under the circumstances.”
“Mrs. Callendar suggested it as the best way out. … She offered to lend us her motor,” he said eagerly.
“You discussed it with her and yet you didn’t speak to me?”
“Well, you see, she’s different … she and Thérèse. … They don’t belong here in Durham. Besides, she spoke of it first. She knew what was going on. She always knows. I almost think that she planned the whole thing long ago.”
Olivia, looking out of the window, saw entering the long drive the antiquated motor with Aunt Cassie, Miss Peavey, her flying veils and her Pekinese.
“Mrs. Struthers is coming …” she said. “We mustn’t make her suspicious. And you’d best tell me nothing of your plans and then … I shan’t be able to interfere even if I wanted to. I might change my mind … one never knows.”
He stood up and, coming over to her, took her hand and kissed it. “There’s nothing to say, Mrs. Pentland … except that you’ll be glad for what you’ve done. You needn’t worry about Sybil. … I shall make her happy. … I think I know how.”
He left her, hurrying away past the ancestors in the long hall to find Sybil, thinking all the while how odd it would seem to have a woman so young and beautiful as Mrs. Pentland for a mother-in-law. She was a charming woman (he thought in his enthusiasm), a great woman, but she was so sad, as if she had never been very happy. There was always a cloud about her.
He did not escape quickly enough, for Aunt Cassie’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of him as he left the house in the direction of the stables. She met Olivia in the doorway, kissing her and saying, “Was that Sybil’s young man I saw leaving?”
“Yes,” said Olivia. “We’ve been talking about Sybil. I’ve been telling him that he mustn’t think of her as someone to marry.”
The yellow face of Aunt Cassie lighted with a smile of approval. “I’m glad, my dear, that you’re being sensible about this. I was afraid you wouldn’t be, but I didn’t like to interfere. I never believe any good comes of it, unless one is forced to. He’s not the person for Sybil. … Why, no one knows anything about him. You can’t let a girl marry like that … just anyone who comes along. Besides, Mrs. Pulsifer writes me. … You remember
