To the delight of the young couple who gave the dinner it passed off very pleasantly. There had been no apparent coldness anywhere, and they were persuaded that none existed.
“Will you be kind enough to tell your sister what I have told you?” said George to his neighbour as they rose from the table.
“If you like,” she answered indifferently. “Unless you prefer to tell her yourself.” The emphasis she put on the last part of the sentence showed plainly enough what her opinion was.
“I will,” he said.
A little later in the evening he sat down by Constance in a comparatively quiet corner of the small drawing-room.
“Will you allow me to say a few words to you?” he asked.
She looked at him in pathetic surprise, and if he had been a little more vain than he was, he would have seen that she was grateful to him for coming to her.
“I am always glad when you talk to me,” she said, and her voice trembled perceptibly.
“You are very good,” he answered in a tone that meant nothing. “I would not trouble you if it did not seem necessary. I have been talking about the matter to your sister at dinner. I wish you to know that I have had nothing to do with the invention of the story that is going the rounds of the town. I have denied it to every one, and I shall continue to deny it.”
Constance glanced timidly at him, and then sighed as though she were relieved of a burden.