His face grew a little brighter, and, as if satisfied with the result of his cogitations, he changed the subject.
“What’s making you so ratty tonight? Is it the faithless swain?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Perhaps you haven’t seen the evening paper.”
“I haven’t. I’m sick to death of papers by six o’clock.”
“Well, you oughtn’t to have missed it tonight, and then you’d have had the pleasure of seeing the announcement of the faithless swain’s engagement to the rich heiress.”
Hal bit her lip suddenly, and felt her blood run cold, but she kept her outward composure perfectly, and merely commented:
“Oh, you mean about Sir Edwin Crathie and Miss Bootes!… that’s very old news.”
“Well, it was only in the paper tonight anyhow; and only given as a rumour then. I was going to ask you if it is true. They say he’s in the dickens of a mess for money. But of course you know all about it.”
He was enjoying himself now, feeling that he was getting a little of his own back, and it made him unconsciously merciless.