"That can wait until I have some food. Don't be inhospitable."
Owain laughed and began to bathe his ankle in the cold water which Mrs. Bell had just brought in. He thought that Vane's news could not be anything very unpleasant since he so calmly postponed telling it. So the two men chatted on various frivolous subjects while the landlady laid the cloth and made the dinner ready. By the time Hench finished doctoring his foot and was feeling less pain, the meal was before them. Vane pushed the table near to the sofa so that Owain could eat without sitting in a chair. He partook of the viands in the dining attitude of an ancient Roman, leaning on one elbow, and being hungry, managed to make an excellent meal. Then Mrs. Bell brought in the coffee, and after clearing the table, left the two men to their own devices. Vane sat near the window smoking, while Owain remained comfortably on his sofa. The casement was open, and the scent of the homely cottage flowers came into the room, which was filled with the coming shadows of the night. Hench felt so tired that he did not begin the conversation, and would have much preferred slumber. But Vane gave him no chance. He began to chat immediately, and on a subject which was already worrying his friend considerably.
"So you are in love with your cousin and she with you," he remarked, after a puff or two. "I am going by what Aunt Emma said, remember. It seems quick work to me--a kind of five minutes' wooing."
"Jim, I fell head over heels in love with Gwen the moment I saw her."
"The deuce! Yet the last time we met, you told me that you didn't know what love meant."
"That was quite true. I didn't. My liking for Zara Alpenny was one of simple admiration. But Gwen! Oh, Jim, you don't know how I adore her."
"I'll take it for granted that you do," said Vane dryly. "But I can't say that your newly-born passion makes you very happy. You have groaned two or three or four times since you arrived."
"It's my ankle giving me pain."
"Oh, shucks!" cried the barrister, after a purely American fashion, "it's your heart, man. You aren't the chap to yowl over a twisted sinew, as I know jolly well. Come along and unburden your mind to your father-confessor."
"It will be a relief," admitted Hench, with a fifth groan. "The fact is I am not quite sure if I have acted rightly in stealing a march on Gwen."