“No,” he said, “I shall never love another, and I shall never be happy again. I might as well go and shoot myself at once.”
Gwen felt desperately inclined to laugh, but managed to keep her face sufficiently to say:
“Oh no, I wouldn’t do that. When you’ve got a fine estate, and a title, and all that sort of thing, it’s a pity to clear out and let someone else snatch it up.”
His lordship seemed rather struck with the idea, for he said no more about shooting as he dragged himself to the door. He did, however, contrive to look the picture of wretchedness, though somehow not in a manner that appealed to Gwen’s heart, and when the door finally closed behind him she hid her face in her hands a moment as if she would hide her smile even from herself. She had to pause to straighten her face again before she reappeared in the drawing-room, though Lawrence read everything directly in her eyes.
“Well,” said her mother, “have you sent him away?”
“I didn’t send him, mummie—he went,” she answered coaxingly.
“He wouldn’t have gone if you had answered him sensibly.”
“Answered him about what?”
“Why, his proposal, of course.”
“But he didn’t propose.”