"Married," said George, with a laugh. "Her husband's in the wool market. His name's Congreve; Barton says he's a very decent fellow. They've taken Otter's Holt for the summer."
If you can imagine the end of the world coming just as you had inherited a large fortune, you will get a very fair idea of my emotions at that moment. I stared at George in a kind of ghastly amazement; then, with an effort, I moistened my lips.
"I don't believe it," I said.
"It's true, though," said George. "Barton is coming over to stay with them next month. Just my atrocious luck! I always fall in love with women who either hate me or have already got husbands."
I suppose something in my face must have attracted his attention, for he stopped and looked at me curiously.
"What's the matter, old man?" he asked. "Feeling bad?"
With a big effort I pulled myself together, and picked up the cigarette which I had dropped.
"Nothing much, George," I said. "I've got a bit of a headache. Too many sardines, I expect."
"You have been sitting about in the sun without a hat again," said George severely. "I told you what would happen. Now, if you had a little less hair, like me, you might have a little more sense." He got up and put his hand on my shoulder. "You tumble in and lie down," he added. "I'll wash up."
And George did.