“Miss Talbert, then,” said Goward, with a heart-rending sigh. “Miss Talbert and I were guests at the Abercrombies' last October—maybe she's told you—and on Hallowe'en we had a party—apple-bobbing and the mirror trick and all that, and somehow or other Miss Talbert and I were thrown together a great deal, and before I really knew how, or why, we—well, we became engaged for—for the week, anyhow.”
“I see,” said I, dryly. “You played the farce for a limited engagement.”
“We joked about it a great deal, and I—well, I got into the spirit of it—one must at house-parties, you know,” said Goward, deprecatingly.
“I suppose so,” said I.
“I got into the spirit of it, and Miss Talbert christened me Young Lochinvar, Junior,” Goward went on, “and I did my best to live up to the title. Then at the end of the week I was suddenly called home, and I didn't have any chance to see Miss Talbert alone before leaving, and—well, the engagement wasn't broken off. That's all. I never saw her again until I came here to meet the family. I didn't know she was Peggy's aunt.”
“So that in reality you WERE engaged to both Peggy and Miss Talbert at the same time,” I suggested. “That much seems to be admitted.”
“I suppose so,” groaned Goward. “But not seriously engaged, Mr. Price. I didn't suppose she would think it was serious—just a lark—but when she appeared that night and fixed me with her eye I suddenly realized what had happened.”
“It was another case of 'the woman tempted me and I did eat,' was it, Goward?” I asked.
Goward's pale face Hushed, and he turned angrily.
“I haven't said anything of the sort,” he retorted. “Of all the unmanly, sneaking excuses that ever were offered for wrong-doing, that first of Adam's has never been beaten.”