“I intended to do so to-day anyway, even if this tragedy had not happened,” explained Curtis. “John Meredith yesterday promised to run me in to see you this morning.”
McLane eyed him closely. “I had no idea you were an intimate friend of John Meredith’s.”
“I wasn’t,” broke in Curtis. “I only met him ten days ago at Walter Reed—”
“What?”
Curtis nodded. “Just so,” he exclaimed. “I saw Meredith again on Monday and he very kindly insisted that I come over here last Friday evening, and spend the week with him.”
McLane glanced at his watch, then turned again to his companion. “Is it really true,” he spoke with some hesitation, “really true that you are to marry Anne Meredith?”
Again Curtis nodded his head. “It is as wild as an Arabian Nights’ romance,” he said somberly. “John Meredith appealed to the latent dare-devil spirit that still lingers with me by such an extraordinary proposition.”
“Exactly what was the proposition?” questioned McLane.
“Meredith wished me to marry his niece, Anne, and declared that after the ceremony I need never meet her again except for a few months each year at Ten Acres,” replied Curtis. “He agreed to settle twenty-five thousand dollars a year on us individually.”
“A very tidy sum,” interposed McLane.