"But do try and tell me how you managed it."
"How tiresome you are, Roger!" put in Osborne.
"Well, I daresay I am. Go on!"
"I've told you Morrison married us. You remember old Morrison at Trinity?"
"Yes; as good and blunder-headed a fellow as ever lived."
"Well, he's taken orders; and the examination for priest's orders fatigued him so much that he got his father to give him a hundred or two for a tour on the Continent. He meant to get to Rome, because he heard that there were such pleasant winters there. So he turned up at Metz in August."
"I don't see why."
"No more did he. He never was great in geography, you know; and somehow he thought that Metz, pronounced French fashion, must be on the road to Rome. Some one had told him so in fun. However, it was very well for me that I met with him there, for I was determined to be married, and that without loss of time."
"But Aimée is a Catholic?"
"That's true! but you see I am not. You don't suppose I would do her any wrong, Roger?" asked Osborne, sitting up in his lounging-chair, and speaking rather indignantly to Roger, his face suddenly flushing red.