“Poor Strephon,” said Trevor, idly.
“And he sees a powerful rival in the path,” continued Pratt.
“The deuce he does!” said Trevor, laughing. “Is that Van, too? But hang it, Frank!” he cried, starting up, “seriously, I won’t stand any nonsense of that kind. If Van’s been making love to that little lass, I’ll put a stop to it. Why, now I think of it, I did see him looking at her!”
“No!” said Pratt, quietly. “It isn’t Van—he’s too busy at Tolcarne!”
“Silence, croaker!” cried, Trevor, laughing in a constrained fashion. “But, come—who is the powerful rival?”
“Dick, old fellow, I’m one of those, and no humbug, who have a habit of trying to ferret out other people’s motives.”
“Don’t preach, Franky. Is it Flick? because if it is, the girl’s laughing at him.”
“No,” said Pratt; “it isn’t Flick.”
“Then who the deuce is it?”
“You!”