“Steve,” said Mrs. Dan, the moment they were alone, “tell me right out what’s the matter with you.”
“Well, the doctor said it——” Steve began, but was interrupted quickly. “If it’s something you can’t or won’t tell, Steve, say so an’ we’ll drop it. I can see it’s a girl. Now?”
Steve dropped his bantering tones. “Yes—it’s a girl. And what then? There’s many to tell you that’s no new thing with Fly-by-Night.”
“It’s a new thing for Fly-by-Night to be breakin’ his heart over one,” said Mrs. Dan. “Who is she, Stevie? Can you tell me?”
“No, I can’t,” he said. “You always told me, didn’t you, that I’d find her some day—the girl I’d be ready to sell my soul for? Well, I’ve found her—and lost her.”
“Lost her?” repeated Mrs. Dan. “Is she dead?”
“Dead? No.”
“Married then?”
“No, nor married.”
“Then don’t be a fool,” said Mrs. Dan, scornfully. “A race isn’t lost till it’s won, I’ve heard, and a girl isn’t lost till she’s married or dead—and sometimes not even when she’s married—if you read the Divorce Court cases.”