"Is it the real girl?" repeated Hemming, staggering.
"Do you think I'd make a mistake?" cried the lover. He swallowed the brandy brought him by Hicks, and requested a cigarette. Their host supplied it from a tin box on the mantelpiece, all the while eyeing O'Rourke anxiously.
"What on earth made you act like that?" he asked. "There'll be wigs on the green when Marion gets hold of you."
"Oh, you must forgive him this time," laughed Hemming. "For, as far as I can gather, he has just met the lady of his heart after years of separation."
"Do you mean Miss Hudson? Why, where did you ever meet her?" cried Hicks.
"It's a long story," replied O'Rourke, "but perhaps Herbert will tell it to you—I can't spare the time."
He threw the half-smoked cigarette into the grate, and left the study, closing the door behind him.
Hicks glanced uneasily at Hemming.
"I hope O'Rourke is not drunk," he said. "An out and out city square poet, who stays at home and writes about the rolling billows, I can understand, but I never know what chaps like you and O'Rourke are up to."
Hemming laughed.