"Oh?... On—on what?" I asked. I couldn't help stammering a little over it.
She wore a brown cloth tailor-made costume and a thick knitted cap of white wool; and the shadow of this cap over her large eyes was not so deep but that I saw the almost reproachful look in them. It was almost as if she echoed: "'On what?' Can such a wonderful thing have happened to you and you ask 'On what?'"
"On this we hear of your engagement," she replied, looking down at her toes. "It's—it's true, isn't it?"
For the second time I felt my facile invention sitting somewhat less easily on me. I stammered again, while she, I am quite sure, misattributed my embarrassment.
"Who told you that?"
At that she was sweetly arch.
"Oh, a little bird, Mr Jeffries! Don't tell me it isn't true—it would be almost—almost like bad luck——"
"Bad luck?" I repeated foolishly.
"I mean, like wearing your wedding dress before the day, or something like that—congratulating you too soon, I mean——"
By this time I had collected my thoughts. "It isn't true," I said.