However, there was nothing for it, so he turned the conversation and tried to make himself grow as interested in a question of foreign policy as he would have been able to be, say, a year ago.

And then he went out for a walk.
And Cheiron sat musing in his chair, as was his habit.
"The magnet of her soul is drawing his," he said to himself.

"Well, now that this has begun to work, we must leave things to Fate." But he did not guess how passion on the one side and complete love and trust upon the other were precipitously forcing Fate's hand.
The possibility of John Derringham's sending a message to Halcyone was very slender.

The post was out of the question--she probably never got any letters, and the arrival of one in a man's handwriting would no doubt be the cause of endless comment in the household.

The foolishness had been not to make a definite appointment with her when they had parted before dawn.