"Well, my dear," he asked indulgently, "what is it?"
"I want to tell you"—Nora took a deep breath—"that I am engaged to be married."
The Rev. John removed his spectacles.
"To whom?"
"To Captain von Arnim."
For a full minute her father said nothing. Miles sat up as though a bomb had exploded in his close proximity. Only Mrs. Ingestre remained unmoved. She was watching her daughter with grave, thoughtful eyes, but there was an unmistakable, half-whimsical, half-pitying smile about her mouth. The Rev. John passed his hand over his head, thereby ruffling a thin wisp of hair, which, usually decorously smoothed over a wide surface, now stood on end in a fashion wholly inconsistent with the seriousness of the moment. But of this he was fortunately ignorant. To do him justice, his agitation was unfeigned. The blow had demoralised him, and to cover the momentary mental paralysis he took refuge in an obstinate refusal to understand what had been said to him.
"My dear," he began amiably, "you mentioned that some one was going to be married—I did not catch the names. Would you mind repeating——?
"I said that Captain von Arnim has asked me to be his wife," Nora answered steadily.
"The impertinence of the fellow!" Miles had by this time recovered his self-possession sufficiently to speak. "I hope you sent him to the right-about?"
"I kissed him," Nora explained, with a gleam of humour.