He suddenly rose, took up his glass, and gulped down what was left in it. Then he went and stood before the open window.
“I say, Brook,” he began, his back turned to his son.
“What?” asked Brook, poking his knife into his pipe to clean it. “Anything wrong?”
“I can’t stand this any longer. I’ve got to speak to somebody—and I can’t speak to your mother. You won’t talk, boy, will you? You and I have always been good friends.”
“Of course! What’s the matter with you, Governor? You can tell me.”
“Oh—nothing—that is—Brook, I say, don’t be startled. This Mrs. Bowring is my divorced wife, you know. ”
“Good God!”
Sir Adam turned on his heels and met his son’s look of horror and astonishment. He had expected an exclamation of surprise, but Brook’s voice had fear in it, and he had started from his chair.
“Why do you say ‘Good God’—like that?” asked the old man. “You’re not in love with the girl, are you?”
“I’ve just asked her to marry me.”