His keen ear caught the melancholy sympathy in her tone. He shrugged. He had lost the fight. Had he won, she would already have poured forth her congratulations.
"Sit down," she commanded, "while I get the tea. Or would you prefer brandy?"
"The tea, by all means. I do not need brandy to bolster up my courage." He sat down.
She left the room and returned shortly with biscuit and tea. She filled a cup, put in two lumps of sugar, and passed the cup to him.
"You've a good memory," he said, smiling at her. "It's nice to have one's likes remembered, even in a cup of tea. I look as if I had been to war, don't I?"
She buttered a biscuit. He ate it, not because he was hungry, but because her fingers had touched it. It was a phantom kiss. He put the cup down.
"Now, which is it; have I been licked, or have I won?"
"What!" she cried; "do you mean to tell me you do not know?" She gazed at him bewilderedly.
"I have been four hours in the saddle. I know nothing, save that which instinct and the sweet melancholy of your voice tell me. Betty, I've been licked, haven't I, and old Dick has gone and done it, eh?"
The girl choked for a moment; there was a sob in her throat.