“Hal-lo! What’s this? It isn’t——?”
“Yes,” said I, sedately.
“Little Monica engaged?”
“Yes.”
“Come, not really, what? No! You don’t say so, really?”
“I am afraid I must, Major Montresor.”
“By—Jove! And I never heard! Here’s a blow!” He sighed tempestuously. “Well! Youth will be served! Fortunate youth!” he prattled on without a break. “I’m sure he’s to be congratulated, the dog. Always hanging round you in the old days, I remember. Yes! Cultured sort of young Johnny with a beard—what was his name, now? Ah, I have it—Vandeleur, of course, young Sydney Vandeleur!”
Pleasant for me, wasn’t it? To have this voice from the Past blurting out—less tactful even than Cicely!—the name of the lover I had lost. In a flash I saw my employer’s slight movement—saw by the passing look on his face that his “business-man’s memory,” which never forgets a name, had instantly associated that of “Vandeleur” with those people at the Carlton to whom I’d first introduced my “fiancé.” What must he imagine? Still, that wasn’t the point. The point was that he should explain to this gossiping little Major, as quickly as possible, how things really—I mean officially, stood! To my horror he didn’t speak. There was an agonizing pause. I shot a glance at the Governor.... Heavens! He, of all people, seemed utterly at a loss—fidgeting like a schoolboy; he who could “break the news” to his staff at the office without turning a hair, was leaving it all, here, apparently to me!
Well!
Hurriedly I was beginning: