There came no mental answer to this self-put question, and the communings were stopped by Glynne herself, who went on thoughtfully and in the most matter-of-fact way.
“I told Robert that we must not think of being married for some time to come, and he said he was glad of that.”
“Said he was glad of it!” cried the major, looking at her aghast.
“Yes, uncle, dear. You see he has to make so many engagements beforehand. His card is quite full for matches of one kind and another.”
“Is it indeed?” said the major sarcastically.
“Yes, uncle. He has to go in training—in training—in training—for, what did he call it? Oh, I remember; in training for the various events, and he would not like to break any of them and pay forfeit.”
The major’s eyes rolled in their sockets, and he seemed to be trying to swallow something that was extremely unsavoury, but he held his peace.
“He says these engagements take up a great deal of his time; but the people like him, so that he can’t very well get out of them.”
“Ah, it would be a pity to disappoint them,” said the major, while Glynne, in her happy, childlike content, did not notice his tone, but talked on as calmly as if the great event of a woman’s life were a most commonplace affair, justifying to the fullest extent her uncle’s idea that her heart was quite untouched.
They had spent so long over their walk that Sir John had had time to finish his visit to the pigs, and they all reached the park gates together.