Nick, however, had no such intention. A faint fiendish smile was
twitching the corners of his lips. He did not even glance in Blake's
direction. There was no need.
"Well, I wish you joy," he said lightly.
"Thank you," returned Grange, without elation and with very little
gratitude. In some occult fashion, Nick was making it horribly awkward
for him. He longed to change the subject, but could find nothing to
say--possibly because Nick quite obviously had not yet done with it.
"Going to get married before you sail?" he asked abruptly.
"I don't think so." Very reluctantly Grange made reply.
"Why not?" said Nick.
"Muriel doesn't want to be married till she is out of mourning,"
Grange explained.
"Why doesn't she go out of mourning then?"
Grange didn't know, hadn't even thought of it.
"Perhaps she will elect to wear mourning all her life," suggested
Nick. "Have you thought of that?"
There was a distinct gibe in this, and Grange at once retreated to a
less exposed position. "I am quite willing to wait for her," he said.
"And she knows it."
"You're deuced easily pleased then," rejoined Nick. "And let me tell
you--for I'm sure you don't know--there's not a single woman under the
sun who appreciates that sort of patience."
Grange ignored the information with a decidedly sullen air.
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