"Oh, of course I do. Do you take me for an idiot, to come up here at six in the morning to talk balder
dash?" Harry was obviously irritated. "Everybody will know soon. I came to tell you because I fancy you've some concern in it, and, as I say, I still want that spoke put in the Major's wheel."
Bob sat down and was silent for many moments, smoking hard.
"But Janie won't do that," he broke out at last. "She's too straight, too loyal. If she's accepted you——"
"A beautiful idea, Bob, if she was in love with me. But she isn't. Can you tell me you think she is?"
Bob grunted inarticulately—an obvious, though not a skilful, evasion of the question.
"And anyhow," Harry pursued, "the thing's at an end. I shan't marry her. Now if that suggests any action on your part I—well, I shall be glad I came to breakfast." He got up and went to the window, looking out on the neat little garden and to the paddock beyond.
In a moment Bob Broadley's hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned and faced him.
"What a thing for you! You—you lose it all?"
"I have given it all up."