As for Dick, he had not apparently the smallest suspicion of any latent
resentment of this nature in his visitor's mind. He brought out a box of
choice cigars, and set them at Jerry's elbow. They had just lunched
together at Kenyon's rooms; and it had been quite obvious to the latter
that Jerry had been preoccupied throughout the meal.
Having furnished his guest with everything he could think of to ensure
his comfort, he proceeded deliberately to provide for his own.
Jerry was not quite at his ease. He sat with the unlighted cigar between
his fingers, considering with bent brows. Kenyon looked at him at last
with a faint smile.
"If I didn't know it to be an impossibility," he said, "I should say you
were shying at something."
Jerry turned towards him with an air of resolution.
"Look here, Kenyon," he said, in his slightly superior tones, "I have
really come to talk to you about your engagement to my sister."
He paused, aware of a change in Kenyon's expression, but wholly unable
to discover of what it consisted.
"What about it?" said Kenyon.
He was on his feet, searching the mantelpiece for an ash-tray. His face
was turned from Jerry, but could he have seen it fully, it would have
told him nothing.
Jerry went on, with a strong effort to maintain his ease of manner:
"We've been thinking it over, and we have come to the conclusion that
perhaps, after all, it was a mistake.
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