He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his dream. Jack Kimble. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. I can’t. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. I want you to think of me just as if I was a man, and quite outside marriage altogether.
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