"This is a fine
wedding of yours, Betsy."
"It's good of you and the other gentlemen to come, sir."
"We had to see the last of you," and I sighed very
ostentatiously.
Pyrrha laughed. She did not believe in it, and she knew that I
knew she did not, but the little compliment pleased her, all the
same.
"Smugg," I pursued, "is ill in bed. But perhaps he wouldn't have
come, anyhow."
"If you please, sir----" Pyrrha began; but she stopped.
"Yes, Betsy? What is it?"
"Would you take a message for me, sir?"
"If it's a proper one, Betsy, for a married lady to send."
She laughed a little, and said:
"Oh, it's no harm, sir. I'm afraid he aint--he's rather down,
sir."
"Who?"
"Why, that Smugg, sir."
"Oh, that Smugg! Why, yes; a little down, Betsy, I fear."
"You might tell him as I bear no malice, sir--as I'm not angry--
with him, I mean."
"Certainly," said I. "It will probably do him good."
"He got me into trouble; but there, I can make allowances; and
it's all right now, sir."
"In fact you forgive him?"
"I think you might tell him so, sir," said Betsy.
"But," said I, "are you aware that he was another's all the
time?"
"What, sir?"
"Oh, yes! engaged to be married."
"Well, I never! Him! What, all the while he----"
"Precisely."
"Well, that beats everything. Oh, if I'd known that!"
"I'll give him your message."
"No, sir, not now, I thank you.
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