"Number Three? Marion!"
"Yes, Marion, Miss O'Halloran, the one I swore should be mine. Ha, ha!" laughed Jack, wildly; "a precious mess I've made of it! Mine? By Jove! What's the end of it? To her a broken heart—to me dishonor and infamy!"
"My dear boy," said I, "doesn't it strike you that your language partakes, to a slight extent, of the melodramatic? Don't get stagy, dear boy."
"Stagy? Good Lord, Macrorie! Wait till you see that letter."
"That letter! Why, confound it, you haven't seen it yourself yet."
"Oh, I know, I know. No need for me to open it. Look here, Macrorie, will you promise not to throw me over after I tell you about this?"
"Throw you over?"
"Yes. You'll stick by a fellow still—"
"Stick by you? Of course, through thick and thin, my boy."
Jack gave a sigh of relief. "Well, old chap," said he, "you see, after I left you, I was bent on nothing but Marion. The idea of her slipping out of my hands altogether was intolerable. I was as jealous of you as fury, and all that sort of thing. The widow and Miss Phillips were forgotten. Even little Louie was given up. So I wrote a long letter to Marion."