He had crumpled his handkerchief into a ball, and was actually bobbing at his eyes with it,—the idea of Percy Woodville being dissolved in tears was excruciatingly funny,—but, just then, I could hardly tell him so.
‘There’s not a doubt of it,—it’s my way of being sympathetic. Don’t be so down, man,—try her again!’
‘It’s not the slightest use—I know it isn’t—from the way she treated me.’
‘Don’t be so sure—women often say what they mean least. Who’s the lady?’
‘Who?—Is there more women in the world than one for me, or has there ever been? You ask me who! What does the word mean to me but Marjorie Lindon!’
‘Marjorie Lindon?’
I fancy that my jaw dropped open,—that, to use his own vernacular, I was ‘all of a heap.’ I felt like it.
I strode away—leaving him mazed—and all but ran into Marjorie’s arms.
‘I’m just leaving. Will you see me to the carriage, Mr Atherton?’ I saw her to the carriage. ‘Are you off?—can I give you a lift?’
‘Thank you,—I am not thinking of being off.’