“Somethin’s wrong, old boy. What is it?”
Phil did not reply.
“Out of money, an’ afraid to send me word?”
“No,” Phil replied.
“Then it’s her, eh?”
Phil nodded. His father squeezed his hand, and after a moment continued,—
“Proposed to her, an’ been refused?”
“No,” said Phil: “another man has proposed, and been accepted.”
“Dear! dear!” sighed the old man. “An’ she’s dead in love with him, I s’pose?”
“I never saw any sign of it,” said Phil, his face wrinkling. “I don’t see how she can: he’s a dry old stick.”