“I’m afraid you must excuse me,” said Comethup. “I can’t join you to-night; I’m just going to see ’Linda.”
“I’ve just seen her,” said Brian, looking at him with a smile. “You didn’t tell me, you rogue, anything about the business.”
“What business?” asked Comethup, a little coldly.
“Why, your engagement, of course. Well, I congratulate you. Our little friend has certainly grown into a lovely woman, but she always gave promise of that. My dear boy, you come in for all the good things; what have you done to deserve them?”
“Yes, I suppose I’m very lucky,” said Comethup. He hesitated for a moment, and then held out his hand. “Good-night!”
“Oh, but it’s no use your going in now,” said Brian; “she’s gone to bed; got a headache or something of the kind. You won’t be able to see her.”
“Well, I’m going to the house at all events,” said Comethup doggedly; “I can at least inquire how she is. Good-night!”
“Good-night,” said Brian, and shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
Comethup went through the garden, and stood under the balcony. A light was burning in the room in which he had once sat with ’Linda, but the long French windows were closed. He climbed the steps and walked to the windows and looked in; Mrs. Dawson sat beside the table sewing. He knocked upon the pane, and then thrust open the window and walked in. She looked up quietly, letting her work rest under her hands in her lap. For a moment neither of them spoke.
“’Linda?” he asked at last. “Where is she?”