“Yes. How did you know of her?”
“Your aunt—Lady Carey—mentioned that your—your affections were somewhat engaged in that quarter.”
“Did she? Really! Yes, she would mention it, I suppose. She mentions it to everybody; it's a sort of hobby of hers, like my humble self, and the roses. She has been more insistent of late and at last I consented to oblige her. Do you know, Knowles, I think she was rather fearful that I might be smitten by your Miss Morley. Shared your fears, eh?”
I smiled, but I said nothing. A train which I believed to be the one upon which Hephzy was expected, was drawing into the station.
“A remarkably attractive girl, your niece,” he went on. “Have you heard from her?”
“Yes,” I said, absently. “I must say good-by, Heathcroft. That is the train I have been waiting for.”
“Oh, is it. Then, au revoir, Knowles. By the way, kindly remember me to your niece when you see her, will you.”
“I will. But—” I could not resist the temptation; “but she isn't my niece,” I said.
“Oh, I say! What? Not your niece? What is she then?”
“She is my wife—now,” I said. “Good-by, Mr. Heathcroft.”