niversity of Göttingen!
’Niversity of Göttingen! Don’t laugh, gentlemen! It’s so! He’s entered on the waybill, book through to matrimony, and”—the Honourable Bob was undoubtedly a little tipsy—“and it only remains for us to give him a good send-off. So charge your glasses, and——”
Brereton laid his hand on his arm. He was sober and he did not like the look on Vaughan’s disgusted face. “One moment, Flixton,” he said; “is this true, Mr. Vaughan?”
Vaughan’s brow was as black as thunder. He had never dreamt that, drunk or sober, Flixton would be guilty of such a breach of confidence. He hesitated. Then, “No!” he said.
“It’s not true?” Codrington struck in. “You are not going to be married, old chap?”
“No!”
“But, man,” Flixton hiccoughed, “you told me so—or something like it—-only this morning.”
“You either misunderstood me,” Vaughan answered, in a tone so distinct as to be menacing, “for you have said far more than I said. Or, if you prefer it, I’ve changed my mind. In either case it is my business! And I’ll trouble you to leave it alone!”
“Oh, if you put it—that way, old chap?”
“I do put it that way!”