her every charm. Colorful as a tiger lily, soft as ermine, warm as vital life is warm, she cast her glowing spell, and George Judson was proud—excessively proud—that he possessed her and that she was proud of him and flaunted that pride before their guest.
He had already made up his mind that, Sir Brian or no Sir Brian, he would not tell her about his business situation. Her faith in him as a superman was too fine, too enjoyable, too necessary to his influence over her, to spoil it by confession of unpleasant facts. He would have to tell her something, of course, but not that. Reflecting upon just what he should tell her, he fell out of the conversation without exactly being aware that he had done so.
Fay and Sir Brian continued to talk animatedly—not privately, not confidentially, and yet a conversation in which only themselves were interested. But suddenly Fay roused her husband from reverie by breaking out vivaciously like a child with a new plan!
"Oh, Sir Brian hasn't been out yet on our beautiful Lake St. Clair. Suppose we take him for a run tomorrow. We could, couldn't we?" Her note of cheery proposal was the very essence of partnerly pride and loyalty; yet to George the proposal was painful—if for no other reason than that it reminded him that there must be a tomorrow.
