"My fault," he insisted. "I am so sorry, Sophy. I am afraid some of the stuff has gone on your frock. Looks as if you'll have to take me out shopping. I'll ring for another cocktail."
He rose to his feet and stepped toward the bell. Then it suddenly occurred to him that as yet she had not spoken. He turned quickly around.
"Sophy," he exclaimed, "what is the matter? Aren't you going to congratulate me?"
She was sitting bolt upright upon the couch, her fingers buried in the cushions, her eyes closed. He moved quickly across toward her.
"I say, Sophy, what's wrong?" he asked hastily. "Aren't you well?"
She waved him away.
"Don't touch me," she begged. "I went without my lunch—nearly missed the train, as it was. I was feeling a little queer when I came, and dropping that glass gave me a shock. Let me drink yours, may I?"
He handed it to her, and she drained its contents. Then she smiled up at him weakly.
"What a shame!" she said. "Just as you were telling me your wonderful news! I can scarcely believe it—you and Louise!"
John sat down beside her.