Sperry looked across at the girl and smiled.
“Shall I tell them?” he said.
“I want very much to have them know.”
He stood up, and with that unconscious drama which actuates a man at a crisis in his affairs, he put a hand on her shoulder. “This young lady is going to marry me,” he said. “We are very happy today.”
But I thought he eyed us anxiously. We were very close friends, and he wanted our approval. I am not sure if we were wise. I do not yet know. But something of the new understanding between my wife and myself must have found its way to our voices, for he was evidently satisfied.
“Then that’s all right,” he said heartily. And my wife, to my surprise, kissed the girl.
Except for the cats, sitting around, the whole thing was strangely normal. And yet, even there, something happened that set me to thinking afterward. Not that it was strange in itself, but that it seemed never possible to get very far away from the Wells mystery.
Tea was brought in by Hawkins!
I knew him immediately, but he did not at once see me. He was evidently accustomed to seeing Sperry there, and he did not recognize my wife. But when he had put down the tray and turned to pick up Sperry’s overcoat to carry it into the hall, he saw me. The man actually started. I cannot say that he changed color. He was always a pale, anemic-looking individual. But it was a perceptible instant before he stooped and gathered up the coat.
Sperry turned to me when he had gone out. “That was Hawkins, Horace,” he said. “You remember, don’t you? The Wellses’ butler.”