"I'm in for it, Macrorie," said he at last, gloomily.
"In for it?"
"Yes—an infernal scrape."
"What?"
"The widow—damn her!" and he struck his clinched fist against the head of the sofa.
"In for it? The widow?" I repeated. "What do you mean?"
Jack drew a long breath, and regarded me with a fixed stare. "I mean," said Jack, fixing his eyes upon me with an awful look, "I mean this —that I have to marry that woman."
"Marry her?"
"Yes," he exclaimed, dashing his fist upon the table savagely, "marry her! There you have it. I'm in for it. No escape. Escape—ha! ha! Nabbed, sir. All up! Married and done for—yes, eternally done for!"
He jerked these words out in a fierce, feverish way; and then, flinging himself back, he clasped his knees with his hands, and sat regarding me with stern eyes and frowning brow.