Jane was standing near him; her countenance fell, expressing uttermost disappointment.
“Something has happened,” pursued Sidney, “that won’t let me go away, even for a few hours. I don’t mean to say that it would really prevent me, but I should be so uneasy in my mind all the time that I couldn’t enjoy myself, and I should only spoil your pleasure. Of course you’ll go just the same?”
Snowdon reassured him on this point. Jane had just been about to lay supper; she continued her task, and Sidney made a show of sharing the meal. Soon after, as if conscious that Sidney would speak with more freedom of his trouble but for her presence, Jane bade them good-night and went to her own room. There ensued a break in the conversation; then Kirkwood said, with the abruptness of one who is broaching a difficult subject:
“I should like to tell you what it is that’s going wrong with me. I don’t think any one’s advice would be the least good, but it’s
