"I say, Wyndham, how do you like her—the beauty, the belle, the Princess of Speckport?"
"She is a fine-looking girl," Mr. Wyndham quietly replied. "And those big black eyes of hers are very handsome, indeed. It strikes me I should like to marry that girl!"
"Yes," said Mr. Blake, composedly, "I dare say. I know several other gentlemen in Speckport who would like to do the same thing, only they can't, unfortunately."
"Can't they? Why?"
"Because there is an absurd law against bigamy in this province, and the young lady has promised to marry one man already."
"Ah! who is he?"
"Captain Cavendish. You met him yesterday, you remember. He proposed the other night at the house, and told me about it coming home. She accepted him; but the affair has not yet been made public, by the lady's express desire."
Mr. Wyndham took out his cigar, knocked off the ashes with the end of his little finger, and replaced it.
"Captain Cavendish is a lucky fellow," he said. "But yet I don't despair. Until the wedding-ring actually slips over the lady's finger, there is room for hope."
"But, my dear fellow, she is engaged."