“Well, I’m damned!” said I.
Valdez jerked his head in a quick sideways nod. “Something wrong? Looks like it!”
I crossed the road quickly, and he kept pace with me. My intention was to join Sir Paget, but that beadle intercepted us.
“Wedding’s unavoidably postponed, gentlemen,” he said. “Sudden indisposition of the bride.”
There it was! I turned to Valdez in dismay—with a sudden, almost comical, sense of being let down, choused, made a fool of. “Well, twenty-one’s not been a lucky number for poor Lucinda, at all events!” I said—rather pointlessly; but his story had been running in my head.
He made no direct reply; a little shrug seemed at once to accuse and to accept destiny. “Sir Paget’s beckoning to you,” he said. “Do you think I might come too?”
“Why, of course, my dear fellow. We both want to know what’s wrong, don’t we?”