“That was a very mysterious affair,” he went on. “I could have sworn as I went down that I tripped over something which struck me across the leg.”
“Imagination,” suggested Grahame.
“I don’t know, but it has always seemed to me most mysterious.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to account for sensations at such a moment as that,” I said, indifferently.
Lionel went on with his reminiscences. He recalled the first day he had ever been to the Hallwards’, which, considering that he must have remembered how badly he and Sibella behaved to me on that day, was not a brilliant exhibition of tact. At last he concluded:
“And now Sibella and I are married, and we are all jolly together.”
Coming from anyone else the remark might have sounded jovial; coming from Lionel it sounded foolish.
“Yes,” I said drily, “we are all jolly together.”
For one moment Grahame looked at me curiously, but shrewdly suspecting that my liking for Lionel had not grown much with years, put down the emphasis in my voice to that fact.
I was angry with myself for having made such a slip.