“Do not tell me that the lady’s name is Mrs. Abington,” said Mr. Long gravely.
“I am sorry—I mean I am glad—yes, I am glad, sir, that it is not in my power to obey you in this matter,” said Dick, still smiling, but with more than a little self-consciousness. He was beginning to feel uneasy beneath the grave, searching look of his visitor. “Yes, dear sir, we are to be married very shortly, so that you will understand, I am sure, that, just now, I do not count my time my own.”
“You are to marry Mrs. Abington, the actress—the actress?” said Mr. Long.
“Ah, sir, there is only one Mrs. Abington in the world, and—my father is an actor,” said Dick.
“And you expect to be happy with her as your wife?” said Mr. Long.
“If I am not, sir, it will be because I am not easily made happy; ’twill not be the lady’s fault.”
“Then I wish you every happiness, Mr. Sheridan.”
Mr. Long rose from his chair and took up his hat.
“There is a forlorn hopefulness in your tone, sir, that has a chilling effect upon me,” said Dick. “May I ask why it should appear ridiculous to expect that I should be happy—at least as happy as most wedded folks are?”
“You have disappointed me, Dick, that is all I can say to you—you have grievously disappointed me. That one who had ever loved Elizabeth Linley could bring himself to marry—— I ask your pardon, sir; I exceed my privileges as a friend. I have no right to express myself in such terms. I have the honour to wish you a very good day, sir.”