“It sounds mean,” mumbled James.
“Not at all,” I said. “You’re quite right not to plunge into reckless extravagance.”
James blushed slightly—a feat of which I was surprised to see that he was capable.
“The fact is——” he began.
I interrupted him.
“Never mind about that,” I said. “What I want to know is—what’s the meaning of this?” And I shoved the bilious-hued telegraph form under his nose, just as Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell had shoved it under mine.
“It means that I’m done,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain. I have postponed my marriage for the same reason that I refused you a clean cup—because I cannot afford luxuries.”
“It may be my dulness; but, still, I don’t follow you. What exactly are you driving at?”