"That's just what I'm doing. If you tell her about this wager,
I'll suicide, or clear."
"Well, upon my word! Do you think I'd condescend to undermine you, you storekeeper? Look out for Martin; never mind me."
"I don't mean her," mumbled the young fool; "I mean Mrs. Beaudesart.
You're going to marry her when you get your promotion—ain't you?"
There was such evident sincerity in his tone that I maintained a stern and stony silence, whilst his eyes met mine with a doubtful, deprecating look; then he remarked doggedly,
"Well, that's what she told Mrs. Montgomery, last Sunday; and she said it seriously. Miss King was present at the time; and she told Butler, and Mooney, and me, across the gate of the flower-garden, the same evening. Mrs. Beaudesart takes it for granted, and so does everybody else. She says she accepted you some time ago."
"You lying dog!" I remarked wearily.
"I hope I may never stir alive off this seat if I'm not telling you the exact truth. Ask Mooney or Butler."
"If I do sleep, would all my wealth would wake me," I murmured, half-unconsciously.
"You don't want to marry her, then, after all?"
"How long do you suppose I would last?"