"You do dare," said he. "You're all a-fluster. Go on; I'll get a parson—how'll Doctor Halford do?—and I'd take care of the license for you if I could—Gad! sorry it's not my own!"
"You are the finest fellow in the world, Jack. I have only one thing more to ask"—I pointed to the splintered glass upon the floor—"Don't get another."
"Of course not, of course not!" he expostulated. His voice was just a trifle thickened. We left now together for the license clerk, and I intrusted the proper document in my friend's hands. An instant later I was outside, mounted, and off for Calhoun's office at his residence in Georgetown.
At last, as for the fourth time I flung down the narrow walk and looked down the street, I saw his well-known form approaching. He walked slowly, somewhat stooped upon his cane. He raised a hand as I would have begun to speak. His customary reserve and dignity held me back.
"So you made it out well with the lady," he began.
"Yes," I answered, flushing. "Not so badly for the time that offered."
"A remarkable woman," he said. "Most remarkable!" Then he went on: "Now as to your own intended, I congratulate you. But I suggest that you keep Miss Elisabeth Churchill and the Baroness von Ritz pretty well separated, if that be possible."
"Sir," I stammered; "that certainly is my personal intent. But now, may I ask—"
"You start to Canada to-night," said Calhoun sharply—all softness gone from his voice.
"I can not well do that," I began. His hand tapped with decision.