“There is no presumption about it, Smithson; you were quite right. She is still single. Miss—well—er—since then—er—we have met.”
“You and the aunt, sir?”
“Smithson, this is no matter for ribald jest,” said the lieutenant, sharply.
“I beg pardon, sir; I meant to be quite serious.”
“I thank you, Smithson. You will grasp what I mean when you grow older. You may come to feel as I have felt for months past.”
“I hope not!” thought Dick.
“I will continue, Smithson. We have met since, more than once; and yesterday I sent that idiot with a note.”
“And he gave it to the wrong person, sir?”
“What! You have heard?”
“Oh, no, sir; but it is what I should have expected him to do.”