“Yes, after I had been goose enough to telegraph to you, you know. You don't know how small I felt when you did not come,” she hurried out, but his merry laugh cut short the humiliating confession.
“And that was why you—”
“Yes, that was why. Don't say another word about it, though. I was such a horrid little fool, and I am so ashamed of myself. And you were so worried all the time about dear Mr. Quentin,” she pleaded, penitently.
“You might have known that nothing short of death could have prevented me from coming to Ostend,” said he softly. “But I've all sorts of news to tell you. When I tell you about the duel you'll go into convulsions; when you hear—”
“A duel? Good heavens, how—I mean who—” she gasped, her eyes wider than ever.
“I don't know how, but I do know who, Jane, I have shot a man!” he said, impressively.
“Oh, oh, oh! Dickey!” she almost shrieked, coming helplessly to a standstill, a dozen emotions crowding themselves into her pretty, bewildered face.
“Don't faint! I'll tell you all about it—to-night, eh?” he said, hastily. He was vastly afraid she might topple over in a swoon.
“I can't wait!” she gasped. “And I will not faint. You must tell me all about it this instant. Is the other man—is he—where is he?”
“He's in a hospital. Everybody's staring at us. What a fool I was to say anything about it, I won't tell you another word of it.”