“Indeed, sir!”

“You were, I believe, aware of the fact that Miss Marchmont and I were as good as engaged?”

“I had—­hem!—­gathered as much, sir.”

“Then—­confound it all, Baxter!—­why aren’t you surprised?”

“I am quite—­over-come, sir!” said Baxter, stooping to recover the salt-spoon which had slipped to the floor.

“Consequently,” pursued Bellew, “I am—­er—­broken-hearted, as I told you—­”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Crushed, despondent, and utterly hopeless, Baxter, and shall be, henceforth, pursued by the—­er—­Haunting Spectre of the Might Have Been.”

“Very natural, sir, indeed!”

“I could have hoped, Baxter, that, having served me so long,—­not to mention my father, you would have shown just a—­er shade more feeling in the matter.”

“And if you were to ask me,—­as between man and man sir,—­why I don’t show more feeling, then, speaking as the old servant of your respected father, Master George, sir,—­I should beg most respectfully to say that regarding the lady in question, her conduct is not in the least surprising, Miss Marchmont being a beauty, and aware of the fact, Master George.  Referring to your heart, sir, I am ready to swear that it is not even cracked.  And now, sir,—­what clothes do you propose to wear this morning?”

“And pray, why should you be so confident of regarding the—­er—­condition of my heart?”

“Because, sir,—­speaking as your father’s old servant, Master George, I make bold to say that I don’t believe that you have ever been in love, or even know what love is, Master George, sir.”

Bellew picked up the salt-spoon, balanced it very carefully upon his finger, and put it down again.

“Nevertheless,” said he, shaking his head, “I can see for myself but the dreary perspective of a hopeless future, Baxter, blasted by the Haunting Spectre of the Might Have Been;—­I’ll trouble you to push the cigarettes a little nearer.”

“And now, sir,” said Baxter, as he rose to strike, and apply the necessary match, “what suit will you wear to-day?”

“Something in tweeds.”

“Tweeds, sir! surely you forget your appointment with the Lady Cecily Prynne, and her party?  Lord Mountclair had me on the telephone, last night—­”

“Also a good, heavy walking-stick, Baxter, and a knap-sack.”

“A knap-sack, sir?”

“I shall set out on a walking tour—­in an hour’s time.”

“Certainly, sir,—­where to, sir?”

“I haven’t the least idea, Baxter, but I’m going—­in an hour.  On the whole, of the four courses you describe for one whose life is blighted, whose heart,—­I say whose heart, Baxter, is broken,—­utterly smashed, and—­er—­shivered beyond repair, I prefer to disappear—­in an hour, Baxter.”

“Shall you drive the touring car, sir, or the new racer?”

“I shall walk, Baxter, alone,—­in an hour.”