"Think she'll have you, old man?" asked Booth, after a moment.
"I don't know," replied the other, a bit dashed. "You might wish me luck, though."
Booth knocked the burnt tobacco from the bowl of his pipe. A serious line appeared between his eyes. He was a fair-minded fellow, without guile, without a single treacherous instinct.
"I can't wish you luck, Les," he said slowly. "You see I'm—I'm in love with her myself."
"The devil!" Leslie sat bolt upright and glared at him. "I might have known! And—and is SHE in love with you?"
"My dear fellow, you reveal considerable lack of tact in asking that question."
"What I want to know is this," exclaimed Wrandall, very pale but very hot: "is she going to marry you?"
Booth smiled. "I'll be perfectly frank with you. She says she won't."
Leslie gulped. "So you've asked her?"
"Obviously."