For some reason he seemed unable to look at her. Vaguely he knew he had dealt her a blow, and that it was of a nature he could not soften.
Hal stared hard at the fire, then suddenly started to her feet.
“You can’t mean it,” she exclaimed, forgetting to be circumspect. “You couldn’t possibly think seriously of marrying Doris Hayward?”
Instantly he stiffened.
“I don’t know why you speak of it in that way. Certainly I am serious. It is hardly a question I should joke about.”
There was a tense silence, then Hal turned to the sofa and picked up her hat as if she were a little dazed. She seemed suddenly to have nothing to say, and she knew herself to be no good at prevarication. To congratulate him seemed an impossibility just yet.
“Of course I know you have never cared for Doris,” he said; “but probably you did not know her well enough. I hope you will soon see you have misjudged her.”
“I hope so,” she said lamely. “Good-night—I—I—hadn’t thought about your getting married. I must get used to the idea. I—” she paused in sudden, swift distress. “Good-night; of course I hope you’ll be happy, and all that,” and she went hurriedly out, and up to her own room.
CHAPTER XXI
When Hal reached her room she sat down on the bed in the dark, and stared at the dim square of the window. She was feeling stunned, and as if her brain would not work properly. It grasped the significance of old, familiar objects as usual, but seemed quite unable to grip and understand the something strange and new which had suddenly come into being. She remembered she had waited for Dudley to come with soothing for a perturbed frame of mind, and instead, he had brought her—this.