"Yes," said I, quietly; "that's exactly my little game. And may I ask what objection you have to it, or on what possible right you can ground any conceivable objection?"
"Right?" said Jack—"every right that a man of honor should respect."
"Right?" cried I. "Right?"
"Yes, right. You know very well that she's mine."
"Yours! Yours!" I cried. "Yours! You call her "Number Three." That very name of itself is enough to shut your mouth forever. What! Do you come seriously to claim any rights over a girl, when by your own confession there are no less than two others to whom you have offered yourself? Do you mean to look me in the face, after what you yourself have told me, and say that you consider that you have any claims on Miss O'Halloran?"
"Yes, I do!" cried Jack. "I do, by Jove! Look here, Macrorie. I've given you my confidence. I've told you all about my affair with her. You know that only a day or two ago I was expecting her to elope with me—"
"Yes, and hoping that she wouldn't," I interrupted.
"I was not. I was angry when she refused, and I've felt hard about it ever since. But she's mine all the same, and you know it."
"Yours? And so is Miss Phillips yours," I cried, "and so is Mrs.
Finnimore; and I swear I believe that, if I were to be sweet on Louie,
you'd consider yourself injured. Hang it, man! What are you up to?
What do you mean? At this rate, you'll claim every woman in Quebec.
Where do intend to draw the line? Would be content if I were sweet on
Miss Phillips? Wouldn't you be jealous if I were to visit the widow?
And what would you say if I were seized with a consuming passion for
Louie? Come, Jack—don't row; don't be quite insane. Sit down again,
and let's drop the subject."
"I won't drop the subject," growled Jack. "You needn't try to argue yourself out of it. You know very well that I got her first."