“Of course.”

“When?”

“To-morrow.”

“Strike while the iron is hot, hey?  Well, old man, I’ll stand by you.  Still I wish you could find out who her people are, just to satisfy a legitimate curiosity.”

“Well, I don’t know the Fays, but Lady Dalrymple is her aunt; and I know, too, that she is a niece of Sir Gilbert Biggs.”

“What!” cried Hawbury, starting.  “Who?  Sir what?”

“Sir Gilbert Biggs.”

“Sir Gilbert Biggs?”

“Yes.”

“Sir Gilbert Biggs!  By Jove!  Are you sure you are right?  Come, now.  Isn’t there some mistake?”

“Not a bit of a mistake; she’s a niece of Sir Gilbert.  I remember that, because the name is a familiar one.”

“Familiar!” repeated Hawbury; “I should think so.  By Jove!”

Hawbury here relapsed into silence, and sat with a frown on his face, and a puzzled expression.  At times he would mutter such words as, “Deuced odd!” “Confounded queer!” “What a lot!” “By Jove!” while Dacres looked at him in some surprise.

“Look here, old fellow!” said he at last.  “Will you have the kindness to inform me what there is in the little fact I just mentioned to upset a man of your size, age, fighting weight, and general coolness of blood?”

“Well, there is a deuced odd coincidence about it, that’s all.”

“Coincidence with what?”

“Well, I’ll tell some other time.  It’s a sore subject, old fellow.  Another time, my boy.  I’ll only mention now that it’s the cause of my present absence from England.  There’s a bother that I don’t care to encounter, and Sir Gilbert Biggs’s nieces are at the bottom of it.”

“You don’t mean this one, I hope?” cried Dacres, in some alarm.

“Heaven forbid!  By Jove!  No.  I hope not.”

“No, I hope not, by Jove!” echoed the other.

“Well, old man,” said Hawbury, after a fit of silence, “I suppose you’ll push matters on now, hard and fast, and launch yourself into matrimony?”

“Well—­I—­suppose—­so,” said Dacres, hesitatingly.

“You suppose so.  Of course you will.  Don’t I know you, old chap?  Impetuous, tenacious of purpose, iron will, one idea, and all that sort of thing.  Of course you will; and you’ll be married in a month.”

“Well,” said Dacres, in the same hesitating way, “not so soon as that, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

“Why, I have to get the lady first.”

“The lady; oh, she seems to be willing enough, judging from your description.  Her pleading look at you.  Why, man, there was love at first sight.  Then tumbling down the crater of a volcano, and getting fished out.  Why, man, what woman could resist a claim like that, especially when it is enforced by a man like Scone Dacres?  And, by Jove!  Sconey, allow me to inform you that I’ve always considered you a most infernally handsome man; and what’s more, my opinion is worth something, by Jove!”