“Hard on your sister,” commented Potter sympathetically. “And not wise for your mother; having shifted her responsibilities, she’ll feel at liberty to indulge her morbid tendencies.”
“Exactly.” Duncan puffed nervously at his cigar. “Mother did not pick out the usual type of chaperon for Janet, so your sympathies for my sister are wasted.”
“Good. Janet has changed very little; as I remember she was a pretty schoolgirl, now she is an exquisitely pretty débutante.”
“She has inherited her good looks from mother. What do you think of Miss Langdon? She was with me when I met you last night,” he added, to complete the identification.
“A beautiful girl; I’m not surprised you walked over the rest of us mortals when dancing with her.”
Duncan fidgeted in his chair. “I’m hard hit in that quarter,” he admitted slowly.
“She’s lucky,” commented Potter tersely. “Are congratulations in order?” He regretted the question as he saw Duncan wince.
“Unfortunately for me, no.” Duncan had turned a shade paler under the strain of the emotion he was striving to suppress. “I would never have mentioned this topic had it not been for extraordinary circumstances”—he stopped and looked carefully about the room. Seeing the hall door was closed, and there was apparently no danger of being overheard, he continued, “Will you please treat what I am about to say as confidential?”
“Of course, my dear fellow,” deeply interested, Potter laid down his cigar and moved his chair nearer.
“Miss Langdon has been with Janet as, you might say, resident chaperon....”