“Come, come, Julian, this won’t do,” he said, slamming the door behind him and taking the seat left vacant by Ethel. “I don’t object to a little harmless flirtation, but you apparently forget that Ethel Ogden is engaged to James Patterson.”
Barclay whitened and his clear dark eyes contracted with sudden uncontrollable anguish; then mastering his emotion, he faced the older man with his usual nonchalant manner.
“I was not aware, Ogden, that—that—Miss Ogden was engaged to be married,” he began and stopped, uncertain of his ability to keep his voice expressionless.
“I quite understand,” put in Ogden, more kindly. “Ethel is greatly to blame——”
“No,” the contradiction rang out clearly, and this time there was no mistaking the look in Barclay’s eyes. “Miss Ogden is entirely blameless. It was my joy in her society which made me”—speaking more slowly—“blind to the situation.”
Ogden did not reply at once, and Barclay stared steadily out of the window through which the noon-sunshine crept in ever increasing volume, but to him the day had become gray and cheerless. Ogden’s voice aroused him from his bitter thoughts.
“When are you returning to the East?” he asked.
“I haven’t made any definite plans,” Barclay glanced at the mantel clock. “If you will excuse me, Ogden,” rising, “I have to keep an engagement at the club.”
“Will you be back to luncheon?” queried Ogden, accompanying him into the hall.
“No. Please make my apologies to Cousin Jane,” and Barclay disappeared down the staircase, while Ogden, with the feeling of work well done, went back to his den; his hint to Barclay might perhaps be broader than the situation merited, but it could do no permanent harm. James Patterson, in his opinion, was entitled to a fair field, and the sooner he and Ethel were married the better for all parties.