'Listen to me, old friend,' he began, sliding forward to the edge of his chair. 'You remember I told you that my relations with the Maccabe family had been marked throughout with extreme discretion.'
'You impressed that upon me.'
'Good! I have never made love to Miss Maccabe, and I doubt whether she has ever thought of me as a possible husband.'
'Well?'
'Don't be impatient. I want you to grasp the fact. It is important, because—I am going to marry Bella Jacox.'
'You don't say so?'
'Why not?' cried Malkin, suddenly passing to a state of excitement. 'What objection can you make? I tell you that I am absolutely free to choose'——
The journalist calmed him, and thereupon had to hear a glowing account of Bella's perfections. All the feeling that Malkin had suppressed during these two months rushed forth in a flood of turbid eloquence.
'And now,' he concluded, 'you will come down with me to Wrotham. I don't mean to-night; let us say the day after tomorrow, Sunday. You remember our last joint visit! Ha, ha!'
'Mrs. Jacox is reconciled?'