“And is that all?” I asked.
“All? How do you mean?” said Mrs. Hilary, with a slight start.
“Well, I mean, did nothing else happen? Weren’t there any complications?
Weren’t there any more troubles, or any more opposition, or any
misunderstandings, or anything?”
“No,” said Mrs. Hilary.
“You never quarreled, or broke it off?”
“No.”
“Nobody came between you?”
“No. It all went just perfectly. Why, of course it did.”
“Hilary’s people made themselves nasty, perhaps?” I suggested, with a
ray of hope.
“They fell in love with her on the spot,” said Hilary.
Then I rose and stood with my back to the fire.
“I do not know,” I observed, “what Miss Phyllis thinks about it--”
“I think it was just perfect, Mr. Carter.”
“But for my part, I can only say that I never heard of such a dull
affair in all my life.”
“Dull!” gasped Miss Phyllis.
“Dull!” murmured Mrs. Hilary.
“Dull!” chuckled Hilary.
“It was,” said I severely, “without a spark of interest from beginning
to end. Such things happen by thousands. It’s commonplaceness itself. I
had some hopes when you father assumed a firm attitude, but--”
“Mother was such a dear,” interrupted Mrs. Hilary.
“Just so. She gave away the whole situation. Then I did trust that
Hilary would lose his place, or develop an old flame, or do something
just a little interesting.”
“It was a perfect time,” said Mrs. Hilary.
“I wonder why in the world you told me about it,” I pursued.
“I don’t know why I did,” said Mrs. Hilary dreamily.
“The only possible excuse for an engagement like that,” I observed, “is
to be found in intense post-nuptial unhappiness.”
Hilary rose, and advanced towards his wife.
“Your embroidery’s falling on the floor,” said he.
“Not a bit of it,” said I.
“Yes, it is,” he persisted; and he picked it up and gave it to her. Miss
Phyllis smiled delightedly. Hilary had squeezed his wife’s hand.
“Then we don’t excuse it,” said he.