"Oh, bless my soul, no never; in fact," the grin again quivered on his lips for a second, "she did some pretty tall lying about it, poor little minx."
"I see. Then, to be brief, you have known all along that I was bound to be disappointed?"
"Yes, sir." Wick's brightly shining, smiling eyes met his fairly and squarely. "You see, she meant to marry you and did her best, but—well, I knew she would break down in the end."
"Neither of you seem," the elder man said, but with a hint of dryness in his voice, "to have considered my feelings much."
But Wick protested, "Oh, yes, we did—I mean to say I did. I thought a lot about you at one time and another, sir."
"And to what conclusions did these—reflections—lead you?"
Wick, who was still standing, took out his cigarette case and snapped it thoughtfully several times.
"To this," he returned at last, "that though I was really sorry for you, it just could not be helped."
"I see, youth must have its day."
"Yes, or 'every dog' is better. What I mean is that really, you know, normally, your day for that particular form of happiness ought to have been, well—before we—Griselda and I, were even born."