"Look here, young party, what is up between you two? Is there anything wrong? Oh, dash it! don't look as if I'd said there was a ghost behind you! What is it?"
"Drake—Drake and I are not going to be married," she said, trying to smile, but breaking down in the attempt. "We—we have agreed—to—to part!"
Dick uttered a low whistle, and gazed at her, aghast.
"All off!" he said. "Phew! Why—when—how?"
She began to collect some of her small belongings—a tiny workbasket, some books, and such like, and answered as she moved to and fro, studiously keeping her face turned away from him:
"I can't tell you; don't ask me, Dick. Don't—don't ask him. It—it is all right. It is all for the best, as mamma would say; and—and——" She went behind him and laid her hand on his shoulder, her favorite attitude when she was serious or pleading. "And mind, Dick, it is to make no difference between you—and Drake. It—is—yes, it is all my fault. I—I was foolish and——"
She could bear no more; and, with a quick movement of her hand to her throat, hastened from the room.
Dick looked after her ruefully for a moment or two, then his face cleared, and he winked to himself.
"What an ass I am to be upset by a lovers' quarrel. Of course, it's all in the game. The other business would pall after a time if there wasn't a little of this kind of thing chucked in for a change. I wonder whether that jolly girl, Miss Angel, will come down to the lunch? Now, there's a girl no chap could have even a lovers' quarrel with. Poor old Drake! Bet I shall find 'em billing and cooing as usual when I come back," And Dick grinned as he marched off with his gun.