"What then will you do—without arrangements?" The inquiry was plaintive and childlike.
"We shall do nothing—there's nothing to be done. We're not to be married—it's all off," said poor Nick. Then he added: "Mrs. Dallow has gone abroad."
The old man, motionless among his pillows, gave a long groan. "Ah I don't like that."
"No more do I, sir."
"What's the matter? It was so good—so good."
"It wasn't good enough for Julia," Nick declared.
"For Julia? Is Julia so great as that? She told me she had the greatest regard for you. You're good enough for the best, my dear boy," Mr. Carteret pursued.
"You don't know me: I am disappointing. She had, I believe, a great regard for me, but I've forfeited her good opinion."
The old man stared at this cynical announcement: he searched his visitor's face for some attenuation of the words. But Nick apparently struck him as unashamed, and a faint colour coming into his withered cheek indicated his mystification and alarm. "Have you been unfaithful to her?" he still considerately asked.
"She thinks so—it comes to the same thing. As I told you a year ago, she doesn't believe in me."