“Oh yes, there are no men and women here. They are all ladies and gentlemen, or ‘the gurls,’ and ‘the fellows.’ But it is very soon learnt.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” said Ronald, very much amused. “But–by the bye, this is the season here, is not it?”
So they chattered together for nearly an hour about the merest nothings, not saying anything particularly witty, but never seeming to each other in the least dull. Ronald had gone to Sybil for consolation, and he was so well consoled that he was annoyed when Mrs. Wyndham came in and interrupted his tête-à-tête. Sybil introduced Ronald, and when he rose to go, after a quarter of an hour, Mrs. Wyndham asked him to dinner on the following day.
That night, when Ronald was alone in his room at the hotel, he took Josephine’s photograph from a case in his bag and set it before him on the table. He would think about her for a while, and reflect on his situation; and he sat down for that purpose, his chin resting on his folded hands. Dear Joe–he loved her so dearly, and she was so cruel not to marry him! But, somehow, as he looked, he seemed to see through the photograph, and another face came and smiled on him. Again and again he called his attention back, and tried to realize that the future would be very blank and dreary without Joe; but do what he would, it did not seem so blank and dreary after all; there was somebody else there.
“Joe is quite right,” he said aloud. “I am a brute.” And he went to bed, trying hard to be disgusted with himself. But his dreams were sweet, for he dreamed he was sitting among the ferns at Mrs. Wyndham’s house, talking to Sybil Brandon.
“Why, my dear,” said Mrs. Wyndham, when Ronald was gone, “he is perfectly charming. We have positively found a new man.”
“Yes,” said Sybil. “I am so glad you asked him to dinner. I do not think he is very clever, but he talks easily, and says funny things.”
“I suppose he has come over to marry his cousin–has not he?” inquired Mrs. Wyndham.
“No,” replied Sybil, “he is not going to marry Joe Thorn,” she answered absently; for she was thinking of something, and her tone indicated such absolute certainty in the matter that Mrs. Wyndham looked quickly at her.
“Well, you seem quite certain about it, any way,” she said.