Cabot caught his meaning.  “Do you mean to say,” he demanded, “that you asked that—­that Phipps woman to marry you and she refused?”

“Eh?  Oh, yes, she refused.  I told you she would not think of such a thing.  That is exactly what she said; it was impossible, she could not think of it.”

“Well, confound her impudence! . . .  Oh, all right, Galusha, all right.  I beg your pardon—­and hers.  But, really—­”

Galusha stopped him.  “Cousin Gussie,” he said, “if you don’t mind I think I won’t talk about it any more.  You will excuse me, won’t you?  I shall be all right, quite all right—­after I—­ah—­after a time, you know.”

“Where are you going now?”

“Eh?  Oh, I don’t know.  Just somewhere, that’s all.  Good-by, Cousin Gussie.”

He turned and walked on again, his hands clasped behind his back and his head bent.  Cabot watched him for several minutes, then, entirely upon impulse and without stopping to consider, he began what was, as he said afterwards, either the craziest or the most inspired performance of his life.  He walked straight to the Phipps’ gate and up the walk to the Phipps’ door.  His chauffeur called to him that the car was ready, but he did not answer.

Primmie opened the door in answer to his knock.  Yes, Miss Martha was in the sitting room, she said.  “But, my savin’ soul, what are you doin’ back here, Mr. Cabot?  Has the automobile blowed up?”

He did not satisfy her curiosity.  Instead, he knocked on the door of the sitting room and, when Miss Phipps called to him to come in, he obeyed, closing the door behind him.  She was sitting by the window and her sewing was in her lap.  Yet he was almost certain she had not been sewing.  Her face was very grave and, although he could not see distinctly, for the afternoon was cloudy and the room rather dark, it seemed to him that there was a peculiar look about her eyes.  She, like her maid, was surprised to see him again.

“Why, Mr. Cabot,” she cried, rising, “what is it?  Has something happened?”

He plunged headfirst into the business that had brought him there.  It was the sort of business which, if approached with cool deliberation, was extremely likely never to be transacted.

“Miss Phipps,” he said, “I came back here on an impulse.  I have something I want to say to you.  In a way it isn’t my affair at all and you will probably consider my mentioning it a piece of brazen interference.  But—­well, there is a chance that my interfering now may prevent a very serious mistake—­a grave mistake for two people—­ so I am going to take the risk.  Miss Phipps, I just met my cousin and he gave me to understand that you had refused his offer of marriage.”

He paused, momentarily, but she did not speak.  Her expression said a good many things, however, and he hurried on in order to have his say before she could have hers.