Nick laughed rather dryly. He was perfectly well aware that Grange had been steadily avoiding him ever since his return. "Very good of you," he said, subsiding upon the sofa and pulling the cushions about him. "I've been saving up my congratulations for you all these weeks. I might have written, of course, but I had a notion that the spoken word would be more forcible."
Grange stirred uneasily, neither understanding nor greatly relishing Nick's tone. He wished vehemently that he would leave the subject alone.
Nick, however, had no such intention. A faint fiendish smile was twitching the corners of his lips. He did not even glance in Blake's direction. There was no need.
"Well, I wish you joy," he said lightly.
"Thank you," returned Grange, without elation and with very little gratitude. In some occult fashion, Nick was making it horribly awkward for him. He longed to change the subject, but could find nothing to say—possibly because Nick quite obviously had not yet done with it.
"Going to get married before you sail?" he asked abruptly.
"I don't think so." Very reluctantly Grange made reply.
"Why not?" said Nick.
"Muriel doesn't want to be married till she is out of mourning,"
Grange explained.
"Why doesn't she go out of mourning then?"