Boulton had been idly
humming the air of an Indian love-song, in which Ridout joined aloud,
substituting the name of Wanda for that of the ideal heroine. As the
sentiment of the song was of the most languorous and 'die-away' sort
it was impossible that the two men should abstain from mingling their
smiles. The conclusion of the singing was followed by a few remarks
from Ridout, one of which provoked a shout of uproarious laughter. For
a moment Edward's face was alive with intense suffering; the next it
had paled and hardened into marble-like rigidity.
"I wonder if either of you are aware," he said, with cold distinctness
of utterance, "that the subject of your conversation is to be my wife."
Tom Ridout stared a moment in unbelieving amazement, and then blushed
to the eyes. "I beg your pardon," he stammered, "I never thought--I
didn't dream--" He broke down completely, unable to grasp the
statement that shed such a different light upon their idle talk.
Boulton was not subject to fluctuation of emotion, and there was no
visible manifestation of a change in his feelings. The match he struck
while Edward was speaking went out.
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