This was not the moment or the place to do it in. They rose and walked on, turning into the open Park. And there, sitting under a solitary tree by the path that goes towards St. John's Wood, he broke it to her gently.
"Flossie," he said, "I've something to tell you that you mayn't like to hear."
She made no sign of agitation beyond scraping a worn place in the grass with the tips of her little shoes. "Well," she said, with an admirable attempt at patience, "what is it now?"
"You mean you think it's been about enough already?"
"If it's really anything unpleasant, for goodness' sake let's have it out and get it over."
"Right, Flossie. I'm awfully sorry, but I'm afraid we shan't be able to marry for another two years, perhaps three."
"And why not?" Her black eyes darted a vindictive look at him under her soft veil.
"My father's death has made a difference to me."
Her lips tightened, and she drew a sharp but inaudible breath through her nostrils. He had been wrong in supposing that she had not looked for any improvement in his finances after his father's death. On the contrary, knowing of their reconciliation and deceived by the imposing appearance of Rickman's in the Strand, she had counted on a very substantial increase of income.
"Do you mean to say, Keith, he hasn't left you anything?"