“But it seems that you have parted from her in a really cruel and heartless manner. This isn’t like you, Dick,” I added reproachfully.
“Why are you her champion?” he asked, laughing. “Are you in love with her?”
“Not at all,” I assured him with a smile. “Only I don’t like to see a girl badly treated by any friend of mine.”
“Oh, that’s good!” he laughed. “You’ve treated girls badly in your time, I suppose. Have a peg, old fellow, and let’s close the debate.” Then he added, in the language of Parliament, where he so often reported the speeches of the Irish ranters, “I move that this House do now adjourn.”
“But I don’t consider that you’ve acted with your usual tact in this affair,” I protested, heedless of his words. “You could, of course, have broken if off in a much more honourable way if you had chosen.”
“I’ve been quite honourable,” he declared, in a tone of annoyance. “I told her plainly that my love had cooled. Hark!” The clock on the inn hall was striking midnight. “There’s no suspension of the twelve o’clock rule. Shut up, Frank, and be damned to you.”
He crossed to the sideboard, mixed a couple of whisky-and-sodas, and handed me one, saying—
“Thirsty weather this. My mouth’s as dry as a kipper.”
I willingly admitted that the summer dust of London was conducive to the wholesale consumption of liquid, but was nevertheless reflecting upon his remarkable change of manner towards Lily. Something, I believed, had occurred of which he had not told me.
He stretched himself in the armchair, placed his glass at his elbow, and began to blow a suffocating cloud from his most cherished briar.