"She comes to you in tears, declaring she cannot marry me. You, not knowing women as I do, are convinced by her tears, and come straight off to me to say the marriage can't take place. You are, if you will excuse me for saying so, a fool. I will marry Dora to-morrow, and afterwards I will prove to you that I am as good a man as any common cad of a surgeon you may please to take into your house as a lodger!"
Jefferson's eyes were blazing with fury. The whisky had done its work.
"I have already told you," returned Mr Maybury, in even, quiet tones, "that I feel very much for you. The abandonment of this match will put you in a very awkward position, but I must repeat that the marriage cannot and shall not take place."
"And I say," shouted Jefferson, "that I will not be bested by Mortimer. He shall not marry Dora. I look to her to keep her promise. Mortimer shall never have her!"
"No, he never will," said Mr Maybury.
"What! You said just now that she prefers him to me!"
"She will never marry him," Mr Maybury resumed, "because in all probability he will be dead within four-and-twenty hours!"
"Dead!" Jefferson's face lit up with renewed hope.
"Yes, he has been severely mauled by a gang of Hooligans. The medical man who has seen him declares that his case is hopeless."
Jefferson did not speak for a few moments. Then he burst into a laugh.