Colonel Denbigh started slightly. Then he closed his pocket-knife and put it in his pocket.
“What about Virginia?” he asked quietly.
Mr. Carter hesitated, then he reddened. “You know how we all love you and Virginia,” he said hurriedly. “We—we hoped there was something—the fact is, Emily says William was—was engaged to Virginia. I—I want to know, Colonel. I want to know if my boy’s behaved like that?”
“You’re mistaken, Mr. Carter,” replied the colonel loftily. “No man who was engaged to Virginia Denbigh could, or would, forget it.”
“But, Colonel, I thought——” Mr. Carter was purple now with embarrassment.
“You’re mistaken, sir,” the colonel held his head high, “entirely mistaken.”
Mr. Carter felt like a gold fish splashed out of its globe. He gasped and swallowed hard. He remembered, too, that his wife had told him not to come. “You’ll only make a mess of it, papa,” she had warned him, between her sobs, “You’re always putting your foot in it!”
“I beg your pardon, Colonel. I—well, you see—it was because I think so much of her—of Virginia, I mean, that I came. I—I thought if my boy—my boy, William Henry Carter, had done a thing like that— Well, sir, I’d feel like disowning him!”
The colonel stood still. He had thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and his eyes were fixed on the distant road.
“You were mistaken, sir, that’s all. There comes Jinny now.”