"Then, Mr. Montague, I will leave you with your friend. My toilet, though it will be very slight, will take longer than yours. We dine you know in twenty minutes. I wish you could get your friend to join us." So saying, Mrs. Hurtle tripped back across the sand towards the hotel.
"Is this wise?" demanded Roger in a voice that was almost sepulchral, as soon as the lady was out of hearing.
"You may well ask that, Carbury. Nobody knows the folly of it so thoroughly as I do."
"Then why do you do it? Do you mean to marry her?"
"No; certainly not."
"Is it honest then, or like a gentleman, that you should be with her in this way? Does she think that you intend to marry her?"
"I have told her that I would not. I have told her—." Then he stopped. He was going on to declare that he had told her that he loved another woman, but he felt that he could hardly touch that matter in speaking to Roger Carbury.
"What does she mean then? Has she no regard for her own character?"
"I would explain it to you all, Carbury, if I could. But you would never have the patience to hear me."
"I am not naturally impatient."