Pleasant for me, wasn’t it? To have this voice from the Past blurting out—less tactful even than Cicely!—the name of the lover I had lost. In a flash I saw my employer’s slight movement—saw by the passing look on his face that his “business-man’s memory,” which never forgets a name, had instantly associated that of “Vandeleur” with those people at the Carlton to whom I’d first introduced my “_fiancé_.” What must he imagine? Still, that wasn’t the point. The point was that he should explain to this gossiping little Major, as quickly as possible, how things really—I mean officially, stood! To my horror he didn’t speak. There was an agonizing pause. I shot a glance at the Governor.... Heavens! He, of all people, seemed utterly at a loss—fidgeting like a schoolboy; he who could “break the news” to his staff at the office without turning a hair, was leaving it all, here, apparently to _me_! Well! Hurriedly I was beginning: “But, Major Montresor——” when the drawing-room door opened to the entrance of Mrs. Waters, in her soft grey satin wrap and black picture hat; Cariad, liberated and tail-wagging, in her wake. Greetings were exchanged—what talk followed I scarcely heard, until the gentle voice of the Governor’s mother exclaimed: “Oh! Then you had met my son’s _fiancée_?” “_Fiancée?_” echoed Major Montresor. His monocle dropped again, so did his jaw. I never saw a man so utterly, so comically taken aback. He wheeled abruptly, to stare from me to the Governor, then back to his hostess again. “Your son’s? Am I to understand that it is _he_ who is engaged to Miss Trant?” Here at last the Governor did find his tongue. “I have that honour,” he said, clearing his throat, taking a step forward, and looking down at the little Major just as some tawny Great Dane might have looked at Cariad—but no! No big dog can ever look as utterly silly—there’s no other word for it—as a man who doesn’t know what to say next. And he who had, it appeared, particularly wished to avoid being made to look a fool on this occasion—Well! He must admit that it was none of _my_ doing that he stood there looking like that! “Well, well, well! I suppose I shall have to grin and bear it and congratulate you, Waters,” rattled off Major Montresor. “I certainly _do_ congratulate you!” “Doesn’t feel _sorry_ for you,” I added mentally, hoping the unspoken comment showed in the one glance I allowed myself to steal at my employer as I crossed over to sit on the low chintz couch beside his mother, while the visitor talked on.