He had observed a look of anxiety, if not disapproval, on Jerry's face, and tried to make it seem as though he took no more than a friendly interest in the widow.
"Alfred," said Jerry, slowly and seriously, "it won't do. I can see you are hard hit."
"Nonsense!" cried Alfred, gaily.
Jerry directed the conversation far afield from the subject to which Alfred would willingly have confined it.
But Alfred was not to be baffled or denied. The moment a pause occurred he broke in with:
"Jerry, you have not told me yet whether we shall start for Ireland tomorrow or not?"
"Alfred, have you ever been in love?"
"Never!"--with a laugh, a slight increase of colour, and a dull, dim kind of pride in some feeling he had, he knew not what--a feeling of comfort and exaltation.
"Because, you know, it's an awfully stupid and miserable feeling. It's not good enough to cry over or to curse over. Sighing is despicable."
"How on earth do you know anything about it, Jerry? I thought you were a woman-hater."