“I always liked little Edie, but it was Myra I loved.”
“What?” cried Guest wildly.
“I spoke to her father to-day, plainly, as—as—an honest man. Too late, old fellow; too late.”
“Too late?”
“She is engaged—to be married—to the admiral’s friend.”
“Barron?”
“Yes.”
“I thought as much. Then it was all a mistake about Edie!” cried Guest wildly. “I beg your pardon, Mal. I’m excited, too. I’m awfully sorry, though, old man. But tell me,” he cried, changing his manner. “Those letters—that glass? Great Heavens! You were never going to be such a madman, such an idiot, as to—Oh, say it was all a mistake!”
“That I should have been a dead man by this?” said Stratton solemnly. “That was no mistake,” he murmured piteously. “What is there to live for now?”