Spennie hesitated for an instant when he saw who was in the room. He
was not over-anxious for a tete-a-tete with Molly's father just
then. But, re-fleeting that, after all, he was not to blame for
any disappointment that might be troubling the other, he switched on
his grin again, and walked in.
'Came in for a smoke,' he explained, by way of opening the
conversation. 'Not dancing the next.'
'Come in, my boy, come in,' said Mr. McEachern. 'I was waiting to
see you.'
Spennie regretted his entrance. He had supposed that the other had
heard the news of the breaking-off of the engagement. Evidently,
however, McEachern had not. This was a nuisance. The idea of flight
came to Spennie, but he dismissed it. As nominal host that night, he
had to dance many duty-dances. This would be his only chance of a
smoke for hours, and the billiard-room was the best place for it.
He sat down, and lighted a cigarette, casting about the while for an
innocuous topic of conversation.
'Like the show?' he inquired.
'Fine,' said Mr. McEachern. 'By the way--'
Spennie groaned inwardly. He had forgotten that a determined man can
change the conversation to any subject he pleases by means of those
three words.
'By the way,' said Mr. McEachern, 'I thought Sir Thomas--wasn't your
uncle intending to announce--?'
'Well, yes, he was,' said Spennie.
'Going to do it during the dancing, maybe?'
'Well--er--no. The fact is, he's not going to do it at all, don't
you know.' Spennie inspected the red end of his cigarette closely.
'As a matter of fact, it's kind of broken off.'
The other's exclamation jarred on him. Rotten, having to talk about
this sort of thing!
'Broken off?'
Spennie nodded.
'Miss McEachern thought it over, don't you know,' he said, 'and came
to the conclusion that it wasn't good enough.'
Now that it was said, he felt easier. It had merely been the
awkwardness of having to touch on the thing that had troubled him.
That his news might be a blow to McEachern did not cross his mind.
He was a singularly modest youth, and, though he realized vaguely
that his title had a certain value in some persons' eyes, he could
not understand anyone mourning over the loss of him as a son-in-law.
Katie's father, the old general, thought him a fool, and once,
during an attack of gout, had said so. Spennie was wont to accept
this as the view which a prospective father-in-law might be expected
to entertain regarding himself.
Oblivious, therefore, to the storm raging a yard away from him, he
smoked on with great contentment, till suddenly it struck him that,
for a presumably devout lover, jilted that very night, he was
displaying too little emotion. He debated swiftly within himself
whether or not he should have a dash at manly grief, but came to the
