“It is as real, Mr. Ives, as it is sincere,” said she.
“It is like yourself, Miss Queenborough,” said he, with a little bow; and he turned from her and began to talk to his fiancie.
Trix Queenborough moved slowly towards where I sat. Newhaven was watching her from where he stood alone on the other side; of the room.
“And have you no news for us?” I asked, in low tones.
“Thank you,” she said haughtily; “I don’t care that mine should be a pendant to the great tidings about the little widow and the curate.”
After a moment’s pause she went on:
“He lost no time, did he? He was wise to secure her before what happened this afternoon could leak out. Nobody can tell her now.”
“This afternoon?”
“He asked me to marry him this afternoon.”
“And you refused?”