'Yes, and proposing to the widow la belle Trelawney.'
'Nonsense!' exclaimed Dalton.
'A fact though.'
'And with what success?' asked Dalton, his colour changing perceptibly.
'None at all, old fellow; bowled out; thrown over—I may trust to your silence, I know—fairly laughed at me, and won't have me at any price, by Jove.'
'Proposed, and was refused,' said Dalton, as if speaking to himself.
'Proposed right off the reel, whatever that may mean, and was refused. But I don't mean to break my heart over it,' added Jerry, twirling and untwirling the long lash of his whip.
'And what do you mean to do?'
'Make love to some one else—get tight at the mess to-night—tight as a drum. So you may go in and win at a canter, if you choose.'
'Thanks, Jerry; but I don't mean to propose to the widow,' said Dalton, laughing. 'She has some history of her own, I think.'