"Lookers-on see most of the game, my dear," he observed, "I've no doubts about the 'business' which called Mallory away."
"You've guessed, then?"
"I was there when we first thought Nan might be in danger last night—and
I saw his face. Then I was sure. I'd only suspected before."
"I knew," said Kitty simply. "He told me in London. At first he didn't intend coming down to Mallow at all."
"Better, perhaps, if he'd kept to his intention," muttered St. John abstractedly. He was thinking deeply, his fine brows drawn together.
"You see, he—some of us thought Maryon had come back meaning to fix up things with Nan. So Peter kept out of the way. He thinks only of her—her happiness."
"His own is out of the question, poor devil!"
Kitty nodded.
"And the worst of it is," she went on, "I can't feel quite sure that Nan will be really happy with Roger. They're the last two people in the world to get on well together."
Lord St. John looked out across the sea, his shoulders a little stooped, his hands clasped behind his back. No one regretted Nan's precipitate engagement more than he, but he recognised that little good could be accomplished by interference. Moreover, to his scrupulous, old-world sense of honour, a promise, once given, was not to be broken at will.