“And,” interrupted Nelly, afraid of her father’s frankness, “he was telling me of his engagement.”
Barney looked at Frothingham sharply. “American?” he asked, showing that he wouldn’t like it if he got an affirmative answer.
“No—a neighbour of ours in England,” replied Frothingham.
“Delighted to hear it. You ought to have been married and settled long ago. I still think you’d have done better to sell your farm over there and settle down here in Chicago.” Barney would have scorned to apply such words as estate and plantation to a farm—though he did call his shop an “Emporium.”
Wickham went to New York with Frothingham the next day but one; and on the day after they arrived they had Honoria, chaperoned by Mrs. Galloway, at dinner and at theatre, and, because Wickham insisted, at supper. It was almost two o’clock when they put the two women in their carriage at the Waldorf and went to bed—Frothingham refused to sit up listening to Wickham on Honoria. He was surprised that Wickham had invited her for luncheon the next, or, rather, the same day—was astonished when he found that she had accepted. His last three days in America were spent in studying—and encouraging—an infatuation.
The morning of his departure came, and the steamer which he assumed must be bringing Evelyn’s letter, as it had not arrived on Friday, was just getting in. He decided that he would not put off his sailing to get the letter—“Why wait merely to satisfy my curiosity? Evelyn sent me over here. She knows what she’s about in recalling me.” He left Hutt at the hotel to stay until the last moment on the chance of the mail arriving; he and Wickham went down to the pier—Mrs. Galloway and Honoria and Joe Wallingford and his wife were already there. He had a few sentences aside with Honoria.
“I’m so glad you introduced Mr. Barney to me,” she said. He trained his eyeglass upon her mockingly. “Really! How extraordinary! Precisely what he said on Wednesday.”
“Don’t be a silly ass,” protested Honoria in an unconvincing voice. “He’s only a big, nice boy. I’m four years older than he. Or, rather, he’s four years younger than I—I don’t fancy the word old.”
“That’s as it should be. If a young chap will marry, he should be several years the younger. She’ll keep him straight and bring him up properly. She’ll be patient with his ignorance and know how to handle the reins when he frets or frisks. Good business, this you’re planning, Honoria.”