The young fellow shook hands with Lady Marjorie. “Only a few minutes ago,” he replied. “I have been talking to Bobs in the hall. I hope I—er—do not intrude?”—looking from one to the other with a glance of meaning.
“Not at all,” answered Karne, quickly. “A visit from you could never be an intrusion.”
Reggie was young and correspondingly imprudent. “It is very kind of you to say so,” he rejoined, accepting the cup of tea which Lady Marjorie handed to him. “Only two is company and three is none, isn’t it? May I—er—be the first to offer my—er—congratulations—and all that sort of thing, don’t you know?”
The colour flamed into Lady Marjorie’s cheeks.
“Congratulations?” repeated Herbert, with a puzzled air. “Oh; on my recovery, I suppose! Yes, I am going on very nicely, thank you, Reggie; my arm is nearly well.”
He hoped that the contretemps was averted, but unfortunately it was not. The young man had less gumption than he gave him credit for.
“Oh—er—I didn’t mean that,” he pursued provokingly. “I—er—that is to say—I was told that you and her ladyship were going to make a match of it, so to speak. I was delighted to hear the news.”
Karne’s brow clouded. “I am afraid that you have been misinformed,” he replied evenly, not trusting himself to look at Lady Marjorie; and Reggie Stannard, feeling somehow that he had blundered, begged his pardon and changed the subject.
Lady Marjorie’s feelings were in a tumult, but she joined in the conversation with merry vivacity; and Stannard had not the faintest idea that her gaiety was strained, and that she was longing for him to go all the time. Karne knew, however, and watched her in silence. He felt like a patient who awaits the surgeon’s knife. If there must needs be pain, he wanted to get it over quickly.
There was an awkward silence when Stannard eventually left. They both felt that there was something to be said; and neither knew exactly how to begin.