For the rest of the day and through the evening Gilbert’s mind was occupied with the important intelligence he had learned. He did not make a confidant of any one, feeling that it was not yet time.
Mr. Ingalls, his room-mate, saw that he was thinking busily about something, but did not make any inquiries. He knew that Gilbert would let him know when he got ready. Alphonso Jones was not so forbearing.
“By Jove! Greyson, I believe you are in love,” he said, abruptly.
“What makes you think so, Mr. Jones?”
“You’ve been sitting with your eyes fixed on the carpet for five minutes without speaking a word.”
“Your opinion about love is worth something, Mr. Jones,” said Gilbert, smiling. “You know how it is yourself. Didn’t I see you walking with a fair widow last evening?”
“Who do you mean?” asked Alphonso, smiling.
“Mrs. Kinney, of course.”
“I only happened to meet her going to a concert with Mr. Pond,” exclaimed Alphonso. “He was called away a moment, and left her in my care.”
“He was very imprudent,” said Mr. Ingalls. “You know, Jones, you’re a regular lady-killer. I really hope you won’t try any of your fascinations on the widow.”