ct he pleases by means of those
three words.

"By the way," said Mr. McEachern, "I thought Sir Thomas--wasn't your
uncle intending to announce--?"

"Well, yes, he was," said Spennie.

"Going to do it during the dancing, maybe?"

"Well--er--no. The fact is, he's not going to do it at all, don't
you know." Spennie inspected the red end of his cigarette closely.
"As a matter of fact, it's kind of broken off."

The other's exclamation jarred on him. Rotten, having to talk about
this sort of thing!

"Broken off?"

Spennie nodded.

"Miss McEachern thought it over, don't you know," he said, "and came
to the conclusion that it wasn't good enough."

Now that it was said, he felt easier. It had merely been the
awkwardness of having to touch on the thing that had troubled him.
That his news might be a blow to McEachern did not cross his mind.
He was a singularly modest youth, and, though he realized vaguely
that his title had a certain value in some persons' eyes, he could
not understand anyone mourning over the loss of him as a son-in-law.
Katie's father, the old general, thought him a fool, and once,
during an attack of gout, had said so. Spennie was wont to accept
this as the view which a prospective father-in-law might be expected
to entertain regarding himself.

Oblivious, therefore, to the storm raging a yard away from him, he
smoked on with great contentment, till suddenly it struck him that,
for a presumably devout lover, jilted that very night, he was
displaying too little emotion. He debated swiftly within himself
whether or not he should have a dash at manly grief, but came to the
conclusion that it could not be done. Melancholy on this maddest,
merriest day of all the glad New Year, the day on which he had
utterly routed the powers of evil, as represented by Sir Thomas, was
impossible. He decided, rather, on a let-us-be-reasonable attitude.

"It wouldn't have done, don't you know," he said. "We weren't
suited. What I mean to say is, I'm a bit of a dashed sort of silly
ass in some ways, if you know what I mean. A girl like Miss
McEachern couldn't have been happy with me. She wants one of these
capable, energetic fellers."

This struck him as a good beginning--modest, but not groveling. He
continued, tapping quite a respectably deep vein of philosophy as he
spoke.

"You see, dear old top--I mean, sir, you see, it's like this. As far
as women are concerned, fellers are divided into two classes.
There's