"I am never surprised at anything," replied his uncle dryly,
"but we exhausted all we had to say to one another before
eight o'clock last night, at which time you left. I therefore
don't know why you have come this evening. Our conversation
is bound to be dull, and--excuse me--I can't afford to be
bored at my age."
"I cannot say that our conversation was particularly agreeable
last night," rejoined Mallow, equally dryly, "we talked
business and money matters, and about your will."
"And about your engagement also," said Caranby without a
vestige of a smile. "That should interest a young man of your
ardent temperament. I certainly thought the subject amused
you."
"Would you be surprised to learn that my engagement has been
broken off since our conversation," said Cuthbert, crossing
his legs.
"No! Who can account for the whims of a woman. After all,
perhaps you are to be congratulated on not marrying a
weathercock."
"Juliet has nothing to do with the breaking of our engagement.
Her mother objects."
"I understood for the last six months that her mother not only
approved, but was delighted."
"That is the strange part, sir. On hearing of the death of
her sister, Mrs. Octagon suddenly changed her mind, and told
me that the marriage could not take place."
"Did she give any reason?"
"She declined to do so."
"The same woman," muttered Caranby, "always mysterious and
unsatisfactory. You say her sister is dead?"
Cuthbert cast a look at the Globe, which lay on a small table
near Caranby's elbow.
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