"Oh!"
"Has she refused you, I say, De Vere?" imploringly.
"Yes."
"Really?" with something like incredulous joy in his voice, though he tries hard to keep it out of it. He has been so jealously sure all the while that Leonora would accept "the goods the gods provided," that he can scarcely take in the truth now.
"Yes, Miss West has refused me, really. You seem glad of my ill-luck, Lancaster," in a tone of subdued bitterness.
Lancaster is suddenly shocked at himself.
"Oh, no, no! I beg your pardon a hundred times I did not mean it at all. I am sorry for you, old fellow, but I can not understand it, really."
"Perhaps you are dull of comprehension. Take a cigar to brighten up your understanding."
They light their cigars and walk on together, and then De Vere continues: