But, as I walked, his words seemed to repeat themselves over and over again in my brain.  I think I even grew angry at the man.

“I’ll show him!” I finally said, aloud.  “I’ll show him that I can fight Reddy Burns, too—­even knowing who he is.”

I hurried to a telephone-booth and rang up the Telfair residence.

A soft, sweet voice answered.  Didn’t I know that voice?  My hand holding the receiver shook.

“Is that you?” said I, employing the foolish words that form the vocabulary of every talker through the telephone.

“Yes, this is I,” came back the answer in the low, clear-cut tones that are an inheritance of the Telfairs.  “Who is it, please?”

“It’s me,” said I, less ungrammatically than egotistically.  “It’s me, and I’ve got a few things that I want to say to you right now and immediately and straight to the point.”

“Dear me,” said the voice.  “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Arden!”

I wondered if any accent on the first word was intended; Mildred was fine at saying things that you had to study out afterward.

“Yes,” said I.  “I hope so.  And now to come down to brass tacks.”  I thought that rather a vernacularism, if there is such a word, as soon as I had said it; but I didn’t stop to apologize.  “You know, of course, that I love you, and that I have been in that idiotic state for a long time.  I don’t want any more foolishness about it—­that is, I mean I want an answer from you right now.  Will you marry me or not?  Hold the wire, please.  Keep out, Central.  Hello, hello!  Will you, or will you not?”

That was just the uppercut for Reddy Burns’ chin.  The answer came back: 

“Why, Phil, dear, of course I will!  I didn’t know that you—­that is, you never said—­oh, come up to the house, please—­I can’t say what I want to over the ’phone.  You are so importunate.  But please come up to the house, won’t you?”

Would I?

I rang the bell of the Telfair house violently.  Some sort of a human came to the door and shooed me into the drawing-room.

“Oh, well,” said I to myself, looking at the ceiling, “any one can learn from any one.  That was a pretty good philosophy of Mack’s, anyhow.  He didn’t take advantage of his experience, but I get the benefit of it.  If you want to get into the professional class, you’ve got to—­”

I stopped thinking then.  Some one was coming down the stairs.  My knees began to shake.  I knew then how Mack had felt when a professional began to climb over the ropes.

I looked around foolishly for a door or a window by which I might escape.  If it had been any other girl approaching, I mightn’t have—­

But just then the door opened, and Bess, Mildred’s younger sister, came in.  I’d never seen her look so much like a glorified angel.  She walked straight tip to me, and—­and—­

I’d never noticed before what perfectly wonderful eyes and hair Elizabeth Telfair had.