"Surely that's not true? I thought Maryon was far too confirmed a bachelor to be beguiled into the holy bonds."
"It's perfectly true," returned Fenton. "First-hand source. I ran across Rooke himself and it was he who told me. They're to be married very shortly, I believe."
Fell another awkward silence. Then:
"So old Rooke will be in the cart with the rest of us poor married men," observed Barry, whose lazy blue eyes had yet contrived to notice that Nan's slim fingers were nervously occupied in crumbling her bread into small pieces.
"In the car, rather," responded Ralph, "The lady is fabulously wealthy,
I believe. Former husband, a steel magnate or something of the sort."
"Well, that will help Maryon in his profession," said Nan, "with a quiet composure that was rather astonishing. But, as usual, in a social crisis of this nature, she seemed able to control her voice, though her restless fingers betrayed her.
"Yes, presumably that's why he's marrying her," replied Ralph. "It can't be a case of love at first sight"—grimly.
"Isn't she pretty, then?" asked Penelope.
"Plain as a pikestaff"—with emphasis. "I've met her once or twice—Lady Beverley."
It appeared from the chorus which followed that everyone present knew her more or less.