And Southerley plunged across the room, hauled his friend out of his chair and flung him at the door. There Bayre, however, planted himself, and protested,—
“If you must be such a confounded fool as to want to propose to her after what I’ve told you,” said he, surlily, “why don’t you do it yourself?”
“Because I can’t,” gasped the timid little lad of six feet three in a deep bass voice. “Look here, do you think I haven’t tried? I’ve been down those blessed stairs four times this evening! Four times, mind you, and I’ve got as far as the door, and I’ve heard her singing to that brat. And I tell you the sound of her voice made me feel so queer that I couldn’t go in, because I knew the words would stick in my throat and I should make a fool of myself.”
“You are bad!” remarked Bayre, critically, as he contemplated the giant’s moist face.
“Well, get on, if you don’t want to be kicked downstairs,” retorted Southerley, beginning to get irritated by his friend’s unaccountable perverseness.
Bayre raised his eyebrows and turned slowly.
“It won’t be of any use,” said he, as he opened the door and went downstairs.
CHAPTER XXII.
A RUNAWAY
Bayre felt very nervous over his errand, and when Miss Merriman cried “Come in,” in answer to his knock, he was almost as awkward as Southerley himself would have been, and she gave him a searching look as he crossed the room like a sly schoolboy.
She was sitting near the fire, and the baby, in a state of great glee, was turning out the contents of her work-basket on the rug at her feet. Bayre felt that he was called upon to explain his appearance with promptitude.