“My dear Jack, isn’t that rather sudden—rather premature?”
“It may be sudden, I don’t know whether it is premature; that’s for Miss Rolfe to decide. And she has decided.”
Stephen moistened his lips; they burned like coals.
“She has accepted you?”
“She has,” said Jack, who felt reluctant to utter one word more than was necessary.
Stephen pulled up and held out his hand.
“My dear Jack, I congratulate you. I congratulate you,” he exclaimed, fervently. “You are indeed a happy man.”
Jack, confounded, allowed his hand to be wrung by the soft, white palm that burned hot and dry.
“You are a lucky fellow, my dear Jack. Miss Rolfe is one in a thousand. I question if there is a more beautiful girl in London—and her disposition. You are indeed a lucky fellow.”
“Thanks, thanks!” said Jack, still overwhelmed by this flood of good will. “And now, perhaps you will tell me what I had better do in the affair! You see I find her visiting—settled, rather, at your mother’s house, and neither she nor your mother seem to know why or wherefore——”