He pushed the open time-table across. "There's a train at midnight. You get to D—— in time for breakfast—two hours to wait—and then by a branch line to L——. The meeting's a few miles out. It's fixed for twelve o'clock sharp. You can just do it—that's all. Will you go?" He stared across at McTaggart, his pale face twitching a little.
"Of course! Why? What d'you think?" He paused for a moment, digesting the news, then glanced up at Bethune with a puzzled look after a quick survey of the time-table. "I wonder you didn't go yourself—follow at once by the five train. You might have stopped her before the meeting. Why on earth did you wait for me?"
There came a curious little silence. Then Bethune rose to his feet, with a restless movement, and walked across to the open window. He pulled up the blind and stared out, his back to McTaggart.
"I couldn't." His voice was hoarse and strained. "She wouldn't have thanked me for coming."
"Nonsense!—Jill isn't like that. Besides—she likes you awfully—she's told me so, heaps of times, and the way you helped in that prison business."
But Bethune made no reply.
Something about the man's attitude struck a note of discouragement, and McTaggart—full of impatience—let fall a vexed:
"Well?"
"If you want to know," said Bethune at last, "I suppose you'd better ... anyhow! I asked Jill to marry me—some days ago. That's why."
Sheer amazement seized McTaggart. Then, from no apparent cause, anger stirred: a faint disgust, tempered by a grim amusement.