"No need to be embarrassed," he went on. "We guessed it would be like that, and the old man seems favourable. But doesn't it strike you as probable that if the affair comes off you may change your mind about those possible expectations? I'm not talking without something to go on, my boy. I've been through precisely the same experience myself." He sighed and looked out of the window as he concluded. "And a damned dirty mess I've made of it."
Arthur's blush had been restimulated by Turner's misconception as to its cause, and still burnt his face as he replied, "There's no earthly chance of that, if you mean ... what I presume you do. And in any case, I'm not going to stay. I've made up my mind about that. I shall be leaving here, for good, fairly soon."
Joe Kenyon looked up hopefully. "Wise man," he commented, and Hubert nodded a melancholy agreement.
"Fairly soon?" Turner rolled the words over with a rather impish enjoyment. "Ah, well! we can re-discuss the precise intention of 'fairly soon' in a month's time."
Ever since Mr Kenyon had gone Arthur had been fretting intermittently over the problem of whether he should take the initiative or leave it to Eleanor, and this indirect talk of her was increasing his impatience. It was nearly a quarter to twelve now, and the morning was slipping away. He had hoped that she might either come to look for him or send him a message but every minute that possibility grew less probable. Yet he did not care to leave the library at this point in the conversation. It would look as if he were trying to shirk the issue.
"I certainly shan't be here a month," he said, addressing little Turner; "almost certainly not another week."
"Does the old man know that?" Turner asked.
"Not yet," Arthur said. "But I'm going to tell him at once. To-morrow morning at latest."
Turner was reflectively twisting the ends of his neat moustache.