"You read me like a book!" he exclaimed. "It's hesitation
that's the matter with me. I'm a variable man. If there's something
disagreeable to say, there are times when I dash at it, and times when
I hang back. Can I offer you any refreshment?" he asked, getting away
from the subject again, without so much as an attempt at concealment.
Hugh thanked him, and declined.
"Not even a glass of wine? Such white Burgundy, my dear sir, as you
seldom taste."
Hugh's British obstinacy was roused; he repeated his reply. Lord Harry
looked at him gravely, and made a nearer approach to an open confession
of feeling than he had ventured on yet.
"With regard now to my wife. When I went away this morning with
Vimpany--he's not such good company as he used to be; soured by
misfortune, poor devil; I wish he would go back to London. As I was
saying--I mean as I was about to say--I left you and Lady Harry
together this morning; two old friends, glad (as I supposed) to have a
gossip about old times. When I come back, I find you left here alone,
and I am told that Lady Harry is in her room. What do I see when I get
there? I see the finest pair of eyes in the world; and the tale they
tell me is, We have been crying.
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