"When did you come back? I know you've been away—from my daughter. She was very sorry. You ought to give her something new."
"I came back last night," said our young man, to whom something had occurred which made his speech, for the moment, a little thick.
"Ah, most kind of you to come so soon. Couldn't you turn up at dinner?"
"At dinner?" Paul Overt repeated, not liking to ask whom St. George was going to marry, but thinking only of that.
"There are several people, I believe. Certainly St. George. Or afterwards, if you like better. I believe my daughter expects—." He appeared to notice something in Overt's upward face (on his steps he stood higher) which led him to interrupt himself, and the interruption gave him a momentary sense of awkwardness, from which he sought a quick issue. "Perhaps then you haven't heard she's to be married."
"To be married?" Paul stared.
"To Mr. St. George—it has just been settled. Odd marriage, isn't it?" Paul uttered no opinion on this point: he only continued to stare. "But I daresay it will do—she's so awfully literary!" said the General.
Paul had turned very red. "Oh, it's a surprise—very interesting, very charming! I'm afraid I can't dine—so many thanks!"
"Well, you must come to the wedding!" cried the General. "Oh, I remember that day at Summersoft. He's a very good fellow."
"Charming—charming!" Paul stammered, retreating. He shook hands with the General and got off. His face was red and he had the sense of its growing more and more crimson. All the evening at home—he went
