Ralph, looked about him nervously for a chance of escape, but on neither side was there any. He was not quite capable of turning round and actually running for it, though he felt not a little inclined to do so.
In another moment she saw him, and he was in for it. Almost before she was within hearing she began to speak, as fast as ever. At the present time his appearance was a perfect godsend to her; she was burdened with the weight of a whole budget of uncommunicated Altes gossip.
“So you are here, Sir Ralph!” was her greeting. “Upon my word, wonders will never cease! The last person I expected to see. I thought you had gone back to England for good. I am very glad to see you though. Fancy what a piece of news we have just heard. Frank is going to be married! You will never guess who the lady is. For my part, I can’t imagine what he could see in her. Little milk-and-water idiot in my opinion. Do guess now who it is.”
It was useless for Ralph to protest his incapacity for ever guessing anything, especially the present puzzle. Sophy had, metaphorically speaking, button-holed him. There was no escape.
“It’s not Miss Freer,” proceeded Sophy; “I wish it were. She had more sense. It’s that doll, Dora Bailey! And, just imagine, it was all settled before Frank left, only they agreed to keep it a secret for three months for reasons best known to themselves. Now confess, aren’t you surprised?”
Knowing all he did of Frank Berwick’s private history, Ralph could honestly say he was. Having listened to a few more comments from Miss Sophy on this subject, he began to hope he might be allowed to pursue his way, but such was far from the young lady’s intention.
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” said she; “I’ve lots more to tell you and ask about. Is it true that your cousin is going to marry that jolly old Chepstow? That, too, I heard the other day.”
“It is true, certainly,” said Ralph, “that Mr. Chepstow and Miss Vyse are engaged to be married. But whoever told you the young lady was my cousin made a mistake. However, that does not signify.”
“Oh, and about that pretty Mrs. Archer,” pursued the relentless Sophy, “she went off in such a hurry—to nurse her husband, was it not? I heard of her from some friends of mine who knew her, and were going out at the same time. About the middle of April they set off—she and Miss Freer. They will be near their journey’s end now. Only, by-the-by, they were going up to the hills, I believe—somewhere near Simla. I was just thinking how queer it would be if Frank and Marion Freer came across each other again out there, when I heard of his engagement to that stupid Dora. Though I daresay it’s just as well. There’s no doubt Frank was tremendously smitten by her—Marion, I mean—but then she was already disposed of. And I don’t think she was the sort of girl to break off an engagement, even though her heart was not in it. Do you, Sir Ralph?”
From sheer want of breath the girl at last came to a stop. All too soon, however, for her auditor; who, though tortured with anxiety to hear more of the dreadful things the thoughtless rattle alluded to so carelessly, yet could not, for a moment or two, find voice to utter the inquiry on his lips. Fortunately, at this juncture, Sophy’s attention was attracted by something passing in the street. When she turned round again he had perfectly recovered himself.