"Last night."
"And when did you ask Phyllis to marry you?"
"A week ago."
"What's going to happen now?" I asked.
"I'm hanged if I know," said he, gloomily.
I was in no mood to offer the young man any advice. The poor little wretch at the hospital—so Betty had told me—was crying her eyes out for him; but it was not for his soul's good that he should know it.
"In heroic days," said I, "a hopeless lover always found a sovereign remedy against an obdurate mistress."
He rose and buttoned up his canvas jacket.
"I know what you mean," he said. "And I didn't come to discuss it—if you'll excuse my apparent rudeness in saying so."
"Then things are as they were between us."