It was his turn to become serious, and in the cloud on his sunny face there was not a little vexation.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "Of all the women in Boston why must you pick out the one that I was most particular shouldn't know! You girls have an instinct for mischief."
"But I wrote to her as soon as your note came; besides, she has promised not to say anything. She won't tell."
"No; she won't tell," he echoed moodily. "What did she say?"
May cast down her eyes in evident embarrassment.
"Oh, it's no matter," Jack went on. "She wouldn't say half as hard things as she must think. However, it's all one in the end. Good-night."
With this abrupt farewell he left his betrothed, and went hastily out into the spring night, with its velvety darkness and abundant stars. The mention of Alice Endicott had robbed him of the gay spirits in which he had carried on his odd interview with May. The teasing jollity of manner was gone as he walked thoughtfully back to his chambers.
He found Fairfield in their common parlor.
"Dick," he said without preface, "congratulate me. I'm engaged."
"Engaged!" exclaimed the other, jumping up and extending his hand. "Congratulations, old fellow. Of course it's Alice Endicott."