"I don't see that," retorted Ellersby coolly, "even if Desmond's acquitted, he'll have a stain on his name--she won't marry him."
"Hey!" said The Town-crier, all on the alert for news. "What do you mean?"
"Simply this, that I'm going to have a look in at the heiress myself."
"Bosh!"
"Fact, the matrimonial stakes are open to any one, and I don't see why Miss Penfold shouldn't marry me."
"She might if Desmond was out of the way, but as it is--pish!"
"Well, we'll see," retorted Ellersby, lighting a cigarette. "I've fallen in love with her, and I'm going to ask her to be my wife.
"Bet you a hundred to one she don't have you," said Marton, producing his pocket-book.
"Done," and the bet was booked immediately.
"Why hang it," said Marton, when this little transaction was concluded, "you're not fit to marry--drink, dear boy--bad thing, hey?"