Len sighed.
“Tell me more about yourself,” said Jack, impatiently, as if anxious to get away from the other subject. “There is some mystery, secret, you say.”
“Yes,” said Leonard, humoring him, “there is a mystery and secret, which, much as I love her, and I hope and believe she loves me, Laura will not trust—well, I will not say ‘trust’—which she does not feel authorized to confide to me.”
“I remember,” said Jack, “your telling me that she had some task, or mission, or something to accomplish—sounds strange.”
“Yes,” said Leonard, with a sigh, “and that mission is still unaccomplished, and blocks the marriage. But I am content to wait and trust, and I am happy.”
Jack sighed.
“You deserve to be, old fellow!” he said.
“No, I don’t!” exclaimed Leonard, remorsefully, “for flaunting my happiness in your face, Jack. And now, here’s the supper,” he added, as a waiter from a neighboring chop-house brought in a tray.
Jack sat down, and Leonard waited upon him, hanging over him, and watching him as if every mouthful he ate did him, Leonard, good; meanwhile chatting cheerfully.
“London pretty full, Jack; lots of people up this year.”