"What's that?" cried Mr. Carmody, and John clutched the edge of the table. His heart had given a sudden, ecstatic leap, and for an instant the room had seemed to rock about him.
"Yes," said Colonel Wyvern. He broke into another of his laughs, and John could not help wondering where Pat had got that heavenly tinkle of silver bells which served her on occasion when she was amused. Not from her father's side of the family.
"Bless my soul!" said Mr. Carmody.
"Yes," said Colonel Wyvern. "She came to me just before you arrived and told me that she wanted to marry your nephew Hugo."
CHAPTER XV
I
Some years before, in pursuance of his duties as a member of the English Rugby Football fifteen, it had become necessary for John one rainy afternoon in Dublin to fall on the ball at a moment when five or six muscular Irish forwards full of Celtic enthusiasm were endeavouring to kick it. Until this moment he had always ranked that as the most unpleasant and disintegrating experience of his life.
His fingers tightened their clutch on the table. He found its support grateful. He blinked, once very quickly as if he had just received a blow in the face, and then a second time more slowly.
"Hugo?" he said.