"There's somebody else in the running!" he blurted out desperately.
There! It was out—a part of it, at least—not at all, to be sure, in anything even remotely resembling one of the thousand manners he had proposed to himself as effective, during long hours of wakefulness, when there was nothing in the world but his crowding thoughts and the ticking of his clock—but still, out! The ice was broken. It was impossible that she should not understand. The rest would be easier.
Alas for young Nisbet! He was, as he himself acknowledged, not "up on women!"
"Somebody else?" repeated Dorothy. "How ever did you find that out? She only told me about it twenty minutes ago."
Alas, alas, for young Nisbet! He had thought his feet upon the beach at last, whereas they had but touched a sand-bar in passing over. The under-tow of embarrassment was worse than ever now, and threatened to drag him down.
"Oh, I don't mean Mrs. Wynyard. I wasn't talking of her—that is, I was, at first—but afterwards—anyhow, I'm not talking of her now! When I say there's somebody else, I mean—I mean"—
"I am going out for a moment, Dorothy—just over to the doctor's. How de do, Mr. Nisbet? Wretched weather, isn't it? Natalie's with your father, my dear, and I'll be back almost immediately. Er—ahem!"
Mrs. Rathbawne went through a kind of rudimentary calisthenic exercise, which consisted of squaring her shoulders and drawing in her chin. It was accompanied by a meaning glance at her daughter, and was designed as an inconspicuous substitute for the frank injunction to "sit up straight, my dear," upon which Dorothy had finally placed a ban.
"And won't you feed the gold-fish, my dear?" she added. "I've been so occupied, and the poor things haven't had a crumb for three days. I've just told Thomas to take a plate of bread in at once. I'm sure Mr. Nisbet won't mind: get him to help you. Er—ahem! And I'll be back in about fifteen minutes, or so."
For a time there was silence in the big, warm conservatory. Young Nisbet had taken the dish from Dorothy's hands, and, after seating himself on the low marble parapet surrounding the pool, devoted his energies to feeding the gold-fish. He was thinking that it was all to be done over again, and that it was harder than ever, if such a thing were possible, to do. What was there about those few words which seemed to choke him? For the moment, he took refuge in a commonplace question.