Jack thought he looked idiotically pleased. To her eyes his face expressed the good-natured fatuity of the recently engaged man who rather likes to be joked about it—a being whom she despised. She was disappointed in Joe.
“If you expect me to jolly you into admitting your engagement to her you’re making a mistake,” she said coldly. “I can wait till you see fit to announce it.”
“Are you sure you can?” he teased.
“Very nicely. And I beg your pardon for what must have seemed an impertinent curiosity.” She regarded him with an icy dignity.
“Fine speech, that,” Joe commented genially. “It’s from some third act, isn’t it? And then I say: ‘Ah, Beatrice, why that cold and haughty tone? Me life holds no secrets from you: me heart——’”
“Joe Kent, I’ll throw something at you!” she cried indignantly. Then she laughed. “Joe, I’ll come down to the ploughed ground. You and Edith were very much taken with each other, and when you come back, wearing an idiotic grin, I’m entitled to suppose. I confess to curiosity. Come, now; give up, like a good boy!”
“There’s nothing to give up,” said Joe frankly. “Not a thing.”
“I know better,” said Jack. “Edith was in a very confidential mood one night and she told me something. Afterward she regretted it and swore me to secrecy. Does that make any difference?”
“Not much,” said Joe. “But now I can tell you that I’ve been thrown down hard. What you spoke of is very much off.” He outlined what had occurred. She listened, indignant but puzzled.
“But—but you seem so cheerful about it. I don’t understand. Weren’t you fond of her? And if you weren’t, why did you tell her you were? And if you were, why——”