“And she refused you—then?”
“Naturally, as she didn’t care for me.”
Lady Marth again relapsed into silence. The confusion of ideas in her mind was too great to find expression in words. She had read of such things; in novels, perhaps, they seemed credible and rather fine. But in real life—no, she couldn’t take it in.
Archie showed no inclination to say more. He rose, and held out his hand.
“Good-bye,” he said. “Thank you for your interest in me.”
“Good-bye,” she replied, “and—no, perhaps I had better say nothing. Except, yes—honestly, Archie, I should like to see you happy.”
“Thank you,” he repeated.
When Archie found himself in the street again, he looked about him vaguely, and sauntered on, scarcely knowing why or whither, thinking over the interview which had just taken place, and recalling, not without a certain grim humour, Josephine Marth’s blank amazement.
Suddenly the sound of his own name not far from him made him start, and looking up, on the opposite pavement he caught sight of three familiar figures, Sir Adam and his two “grand-daughters.”
“Where are you off to?” said the old man. “You don’t look as if you were bound on anything very important. Come with us—we’re going to see some of the pictures.”