I sat sipping tea and silently admiring this remarkable woman. But she never lets you rest with one surprise.
"Have you heard about Pearl?" she asked suddenly.
"Surely, Miss Veal is not ill?" I exclaimed, in some alarm.
"Oh, no—engaged," Mrs. Radigan replied laughing. "Engaged to Plumstone Smith."
I had been expecting this for some days, and believed myself prepared for it, but the announcement was none the less disagreeable. Of course I have never had anything more than admiration for the girl. What man could help that! Perhaps once or twice, in a vague way, there have come to me thoughts more ambitious, but they seemed too absurd. Pearl Veal is rich and beautiful, a rare combination, and it was not to be expected that she would waste herself, all her charm and wealth, on a struggling nobody, a man who could boast nothing. So such silly dreams were laughed at in my sober moments. But when the announcement came, when I realized that, vague and silly though they were, they must be put away forever, I was a bit hard hit—harder hit than I expected.
"Well, it is fine!" I cried, putting the best face possible on the matter. "Of course I knew it all along. But when are they to be married?"
"Never," said Mrs. Radigan, sipping tea. "You see, it's just for a while. It was announced, by mistake, in the papers this morning, but we have denied it. It will make a great deal of talk, you know, and the formal announcement will be made next week."
"I see," said I. "But you say they are not to be married?"
"Of course," said Mrs. Radigan. "You see, Pearl came to me and asked my consent, and I said they could be engaged for a while; he is such a well-known cotillon-leader."
"But doesn't she love him?"