This mood of Jack's was a singular one. He was evidently undergoing great distress of mind. Under such circumstances as these, no levity could be thought of. Had he not been so desperate, I might have ventured upon a jest about the widow driving the others from the field and coming forth victorious; but, as it was, there was no room for jest. So I simply sat in silence, and returned his gaze.
"Well?" said he at last, impatiently.
"Well?" said I.
"Haven't you got any thing to say about that?"
"I don't know what to say. Your manner of telling this takes me more by surprise than the thing itself. After all, you must have looked forward to this."
"Looked forward? I'll be hanged if I did, except in a very general way. Damn it, man! I thought she'd have a little pity on a fellow, and allow me some liberty. I didn't look forward to being shut up at once."
"At once? You speak as though the event were near."
"Near? I should think it was. What do you say to next week? Is that near or not? Near? I should rather think so."
"Next week? Good Lord! Jack, do you really mean it? Nonsense!"
"Next week—yes—and worse—on Tuesday—not the end, but the beginning, of the week—Tuesday, the 20th of June."