"I don't mind that," replied Dorman Royle, and his face beamed with the smile at once proud and sheepish and a little fatuous which has only meant one thing since the beginning of the world.
"You are going to be married!" said Groome.
"How in the world did you guess?" asked Royle; but it must be supposed that there had been some little note of regret or jealousy in his friend's voice, for the smile died away, and he nodded his head in comprehension.
"Yes, old man. That's the way of it. It's the snapping of the old ties--not a doubt. I shall meet you from time to time at the club in the afternoon, and you will dine with us whenever you care to. But we shall not talk very intimately any more of matters which concern us. We shall be just a trifle on our guard against each other. A woman means that--yes. However, I do what I can. I borrow your house for my honeymoon."
Groome heard the speech with surprise. He had not expected to be understood with so much accuracy. He seemed to be looking at a new man--a stranger, almost certainly no longer his friend, but a man who had put friendship behind him and had reached out and grasped a treasure which had transfigured all his world.
"And whom are you going to marry?" Groome asked; and the answer surprised him still more.
"Ina Fayle."
"Ina--you don't mean----?"
"Yes, I do," said Royle, and the note of his voice was a challenge. But Groome did not take it up. Ina Fayle, of course, he knew by sight and by reputation, as who in London at that time did not? She was a young actress who had not been content to be beautiful.
"Yes, she's a worker," suddenly said Royle. "She has had to work since she was sixteen, and what she is, sheer industry has made her. Now she is going to give up all her success."