This time there was a short silence. Fenwick walked away a few yards, and came back to where Miss Arbuthnot still stood waiting.
“You are right,” he said in an altered tone; “you are right. From beginning to end it has been a miserable mistake.”
She expressed no surprise, the two appearing to understand each other. She only inquired—
“And what do you intend to do?”
“I must go on with it. We must marry,” he returned moodily.
“Certainly,” said Miss Arbuthnot briskly, “certainly. No other course is open to you.” He looked at her again.
“And yet you haven’t a word of pity to throw!”
“Why should I? You are marrying the girl you chose, a nice girl, too, who had no thought of you until you insisted upon her falling in love. And now that you have got her there, you are discontented. Pity! Yes, I pity her with all my heart!”
He still kept his eyes on her.
“You won’t be any better off yourself,” he said with significance.