Cannington grew red. "Oh, hang it, I can't. It would look as though I were shying Mabel at the chap's head. It will all come right in time."
"Unless Mabel, in a fit of pique, accepts Marr."
"She won't do that. He's bunked out of the business."
"Really!" said I, with feigned surprise, "and why?"
"Lord only knows," said Cannington indifferently. "Aunt Lucy is in a fine state about his clearing. He wrote and said he had a sudden call on business to South America--something to do with a silver mine, I fancy--and would be away for a year. Aunt Lucy says this means he has given up any idea of making Mab his wife, and she blames poor Mab, and says it was her flirting with Dicky that sent old Marr off."
"It's just as well, Cannington. Weston is a much better match for your sister, and is quite rich enough, besides being younger. But has Marr really gone away?"
"I suppose so. I haven't seen him about town lately, and he said that he was sailing soon for New York. I'm sure I don't care: he can go hang for me." He laughed. "Aunt Lucy said I ought to thrash him for compromising Mabel. But that's all bosh. Mab's quite able to look after herself, and I can't lay hands on a man old enough to be my father. What do you think? Ought I to thrash him?"
Privately I thought that it would do Mr. Marr-Monk good to have a trifle of physical pain, and when Cannington knew the whole truth I was not at all sure but what he would reconsider his position and thrash the scoundrel. But since Monk had kept his promise I had to keep mine, so I merely shrugged my shoulders. "He's too old, boy. Besides, your sister never cared for him. When the airship is floated--is that the correct term--Weston is sure to propose."
"And you expect Mab to take him with a 'Thank you,'" flashed out the boy, growing red and haughty.
"Well," said I, with a look of surprise, "she loves him."