"I—I suppose so," says he.
"Well, so far as I can see," says I, "you got to go back and apologize."
"What! Now?" says he.
"Before she has time to sick the old man on you with a gun," says I.
"Yes, yes!" says he. "Not that I am afraid of that. I wish he would shoot me! I hope someone does! But I suppose I ought to beg her pardon."
"In with you, then!" says I, leadin' him towards the door.
With his hand on the knob he balks. "Oh, I can't!" says he. "I simply cannot trust myself. If I should try, if I should find myself close to her once more. McCabe, I—I might do it all over again."
"Say, look here, Dudley!" says I. "This ain't a habit you're breakin' yourself of, you know: it's just a single slip you've got to apologize for."
"I know," says he; "but you cannot imagine how madly in love with her I am."
"I'm glad I can't," says I.