“Ah, I know him! I saw you talking with him. Has he a daughter?”
“Heaven knows. He has a harem full of wives over in Stamboul. That’s how it all came about, you see.”
“But I don’t see. I’m as much in the dark as ever. Now, if you prefer not to take me into your confidence——”
“Aleck, on the contrary I am delighted with the chance. Something about this business goes against my grain. I’ve always been a rolling stone, a harum-scarum sort of fellow, but I don’t know that I ever did a bad deed in my life. Yes, I believe your running across me to-night is a blessing. You can be a father confessor.”
“Thanks.”
“And having heard my little lay, tell me whether it would be awful wicked for me to win a wife by such fraud. Understand in the beginning, my intentions are honorable. If I refuse the job someone else will take it, and Samson Cereal’s daughter be won by a wretch who will abuse his privilege. Hence, though sworn to bachelorhood, I have deemed it my duty to put aside my scruples and——Jove! I’ve been forgetting myself—what time have you?”
“Just a quarter to nine.”
Wycherley shrugs his shoulders.
“Then the time has come. I question my nerve to carry out the contract,” he mutters.
“Contract?” echoes the Canadian athlete.