"Oh, Sandy, I'm aeons older than you. A woman always is.
Besides"—her words hurrying a little—"I'm engaged already."
"Engaged?"
He dropped the dead match he was still holding and stared out of the window a moment. Then, squaring his shoulders, he said quietly:
"Who's the lucky beggar?"
"Roger Trenby."
Sandy's lips pursed themselves to whistle, but he checked himself in time and no sound escaped. Turning to Nan, he spoke with a gravity that sat strangely on him.
"Old girl, I hope you'll be very happy—the happiest woman in the world." But there was a look of dissatisfaction in his eyes which had nothing whatever to do with his own disappointment. He had known all along that he had really no chance with her.
"But we're pals, Nan—pals, just the same?" he went on.
She slipped her hand into his.
"Pals—always, Sandy," she replied.