well, that's odd. At any rate, there's one of
your troubles cut off."

"Cutoff?"

"Yes."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this, that Number Three won't bother you again."

Jack stood looking at me for some time in silence, with a dark frown on
his brow.

"Look here, Macrorie," said he; "you force me to gather from your words
what I am very unwilling to learn."

"What!" said I "Is it that I admire Miss O'Halloran? Is that it? Come,
now; speak plainly, Jack. Don't stand in the sulks. What is it that you
want to say? I confess that I'm as much amazed as you are at finding
that my Lady of the Ice is the same as your 'Number Three.' But such is
the case; and now what are you going to do about it?"

"First of all," said Jack, coldly, "I want to know what you are
proposing to do about it."

"I?" said I. "Why, my intention is, if possible, to try to win from
Miss O'Halloran a return of that feeling which I entertain toward her."

"So that's your little game--is it?" said Jack, savagely.

"Yes," said I, quietly; "that's exactly my little game. And may I ask
what objection you have to it, or on what possible right you can ground
any conceivable objection?"

"Right?" said Jack--"every right that a man of honor should respect."

"Right?" cried I. "Right?"

"Yes, right. You know very well that she's mine."

"Yours! Yours!" I cried. "Yours! You call her "Number Three." That very
name of itself is enough to shut your mouth forever. What! Do you come
seriously to claim any rights over a girl, when by your own confession
there are no less than two others to whom you have offered yourself? Do
you mean to look me in the face, after what you yourself have told me,
and say that you consider that you have any claims on Miss O'Halloran?"

"Yes, I do!" cried Jack. "I do, by Jove! Look here, Macrorie. I've
given you my confidence. I've told you all about my affair with her.
You know that only a day or two ago I was expecting her to elope with
me--"

"Yes, and hoping that she wouldn't," I interrupted.

"I was not. I was angry when she refused, and I've felt hard about it
ever since. But she's mine all the same, and you know it."

"Yours? And so is Miss Phillips yours," I cried, "and so is Mrs.
Finnimore; and I swear I believe that, if I were to be sweet on Louie,
you'd consider yourself injured. Hang it, man! What are you up to?
What do you mean? At this rate, you'll claim every woman in Quebec.
Where do intend to draw the