"Troth," said Moore, smiling, "she made it all criss-cross long ago. But go on, Terry. Unbosom yourself."
"It's this, Tom. My sister Winnie is secretly engaged to Captain Arbuckle of the Ninth Dragoons."
"Engaged to an Englishman!" ejaculated Moore, as though horrified. "And secretly. That adds insult to injury."
"Aye, secretly," repeated Farrell, dolefully.
"That's how you came to know, doubtless," remarked Moore. "Oh, it is awful, Terence, but cheer up, lad. You won't have to be Arbuckle's wife. Let that comfort you, Terry."
"That is not all, Tom. I am poorer than you are, and I have a debt of honor of fifty pounds due to-morrow."
"Whew!" ejaculated Moore, in astonishment. "Well, whose fault is that?"
"Yours, Tom," replied Farrell, boldly.
"Mine? How the devil can that be?" asked Moore, leaning against the desk for comfort and support.
"It is very simple. I thought you were sweet on Winnie."