Whereupon Gwen forgot she was a young personage of importance mentioned often in the fashionable papers, and danced a little jig all round the room.
“Lovely!” she cried, “just lovely! You must get married before me so that I can be a bridesmaid, Lawrie.”
“You are somewhat premature,” dryly. “Paddy has refused to marry me.”
Gwen came to a sudden standstill.
“Refused,” she repeated, as if she were not quite sure she had heard aright.
“Yes, plain, ungarnished, unmistakable refusal.”
“Little idiot!” said Gwen, “what’s she dreaming of!”
“I don’t know, but she was at considerable pains to impress upon me that even medicine bottles and that beastly dispensary were preferable to Mourne Lodge with me.”
Gwen made a curious whistling sound with her lips—again not in the least what one would expect from a young lady mentioned in fashionable papers, and sat down beside Lawrence looking quite subdued.
“Well, don’t look so blue,” she said presently. “Where there’s a will there’s a way. What are you going to do?”