“Well, what do you mean to do about it?” asked Mr. Carteret after a pause.
“What is there to do?” answered Barclay. “Nothing but wait.”
“My boy,” said the older man, “I’m not surprised that you’re in love with Mary Granvil; I am myself, and, what’s more, I’m not going to have her thrown away on a bounder like Tappingwell-Sikes. If you don’t propose to her, I shall. I’ll keep my hands off for three weeks, and then look out.”
Barclay smiled. “You don’t frighten me very much,” he said.
“But I’m in earnest,” said Mr. Carteret. “It’s time for me to get married. I’m not the kind for a grand passion, and that’s all in my favor when it comes to making love. In fact, my indifference to women is what makes me so attractive.”
“Perhaps it is,” said Barclay. “Generally speaking, I’m indifferent to women myself. But—”
“I’m not going to discuss it with you,” said Mr. Carteret interrupting. “I’m going to propose to Mary Granvil.”
He examined the broken collar-bone, sent a servant to telephone for the doctor, and left the room. “Now,” he said to himself, “I’ve got to go to Lady Withers and unsave Barclay.” And he went back to the library where they were still having tea.
It was Lady Withers’s dummy, and the cards being excessively bad, she had risen and was walking about. As Mr. Carteret entered, she glanced at him coldly; but as he continued to approach, she held her ground.