“But you won’t say any such nonsense, my dear fellow,” he retorted, blowing a thin wreath of smoke from his complacent lips; “and it would be nonsense, sheer nonsense, for you couldn’t draw back if you would, because, my dear Percy, you are so completely and madly in love with her!”
Percy Levant grew pale, and he clenched his hands.
“You fiend!” he muttered.
Spenser Churchill laughed softly.
“Come, come, we had enough hard names last night! If I am a fiend, as you call it, don’t you be a fool. Why, my good sir, you have got everything you wanted, and, like a spoiled child, you are still dissatisfied, and want to quarrel with the person who has been your best friend. What, give up charming Doris Marlowe! Tut, tut, you couldn’t do it; now, could you?”
Percy Levant turned his head aside, and something like a groan escaped his compressed lips.
“No, you couldn’t. And therefore I say that the sooner the marriage takes place, and you have got for your bride the beautiful young creature with whom you are so madly in love, the better. ‘A bird in the hand,’ and ‘There is many a slip, etc., etc.’ You know the two old, but exquisitely true, proverbs, I daresay. Get the marriage over, my dear Percy!”
“You speak of a marriage, and we were engaged only last night!” he said, after a pause. “Do you think she would consent? How little you know her. Perhaps you think”—with a bitter smile—“that she is as madly in love with me as I am with her!”
Spenser Churchill shook his head.
“No, my dear fellow, I don’t think anything of the kind. I think I can understand why Miss Doris has promised to marry you. But if she doesn’t love you now, she will do so. Oh, yes, believe me, with most women love comes after marriage!”