“He was as pale as death!” said his mother. “He had found Leila in the drawing-room in a becoming half-light, and been taken off his guard.”
“And metaphorically he told the shopwoman he would prefer that one,” I said shakily. “I understand! Was he very unhappy over his bargain?”
“Frightfully out of sorts and off color,” said the wooer’s mother, “until at a crisis, a month later, I nerved him to go and see the mother and explain the mistake.”
“And did he?”
“I will say Mrs. Polkingham took the revelation in good part,” said Lady Garlingham. “Leila cried a good deal, I believe, when she turned Gar over to Sheila, and Sheila was not disagreeably inclined to crow. I must give the girls credit for their behavior. As for Gar, he was the very picture of young, ardent happiness. ‘Mother,’ I can hear him saying, ‘thanks to you, I have won the dearest and loveliest girl in the world.’ (Poor boy!) ‘And I’m as happy as a gardener.’”
“Did that phase last long?” I queried, with twitching facial muscles.
“He began to flag, as it were, in about six weeks,” said Garlingham’s mother mournfully. “My poor, affectionate, wobbly boy. The sky of his simple happiness was overcast. There came a day when the floodgates of his resolve to go through with everything at any cost—sacrifice himself for the sake of his duty and for the credit of his family name——”
“Noblesse oblige,” I stammered chokily. “Noblesse oblige.”
“The floodgates were broken down,” said his mother, with a tremble in her voice. “His heart reverted with a bound to the—the other—to Leila.”
“To the blue doll!” I spluttered.