"I don't know," said Cairns vacantly. "I don't know what I'm doing. All this is too wonderful for me. I thought she knew me too well to care for me. But she only began to cry. And I am going——"
He bolted back into the dark music room. Desboro and Jacqueline gazed at each other.
"That man is mad!" snapped her husband. "But—I believe she means to take him. Don't you?"
"Why—I suppose so," she managed to answer, stifling a violent inclination to laugh.
They listened shamelessly. They stood there for a long while, listening. And at last two shadowy figures appeared coming toward them very slowly. One walked quietly into Jacqueline's arms; the other attempted it with Desboro, and was repulsed.
"You're not French, you know," said the master of the house, shaking hands with him viciously. "Never did I see such a blooming idiot as you can be—but if Cynthia can stand you, I'll have to try."
Jacqueline whispered: "Cynthia and I want to be alone for a little while. Take him away, Jim."
So Desboro lugged off the happy but demoralised suitor and planted him in a library chair vigorously.
"Now," he said, "how about it? Has she accepted you?"