She tried to answer, but she could not, and in another minute, to tell the honest truth, she had exchanged the gate-post for Harold’s broad shoulder, and was finishing her “cry” there.
Now to see a young and pretty woman weeping (more especially if she happens to be weeping on your shoulder) is a very trying thing. It is trying even if you do not happen to be in love with her at all. But if you are in love with her, however little, it is dreadful; whereas, if, as in the present case, you happen to worship her, more, perhaps, than it is good to worship any fallible human creature, then the sight is positively overpowering. And so, indeed, it proved in the present instance. The Colonel could not bear it, but lifting her head from his shoulder, he kissed her sweet face again and again.
“What is it, darling?” he said, “what is the matter?”
“Leave go of me and I will tell you,” she answered.
He obeyed, though with some unwillingness.
She hunted for her handkerchief and wiped her eyes, and then at last she spoke:
“I am engaged to be married,” she said in a low voice, “I am engaged to Mr. Cossey.”
Then, for about the first time in his life, Harold Quaritch swore violently in the presence of a lady.
“Oh, damn it all!” he said.
She took no notice of the strength of the language, perhaps indeed she re-echoed it in some feminine equivalent.