Mr. Bowdoin motioned Jamie to a chair. And it marked his curious sense that he was treating as man to man that for the first and only time within that office Jamie took it.
"Mercedes." Jamie lingered lovingly over the name. "I have tried my best, sir. I have made her—nay, she was one—like a lady. You would not let her marry Master Harley."
"I never"—the old gentleman interrupted. Jamie waved his hand.
"They would not, I mean, sir. She will not marry John Hughson. You are a gentleman, sir, and could tell me if I—would be taking an unfair advantage—if I asked her—to marry—me. I am sure—I love her enough."
Jamie dropped his voice quickly on the last words, so that they were inaudible to Mr. James Bowdoin, who had suddenly laughed.
Old Mr. Bowdoin turned angrily upon his son.
But Jamie's face had turned to white. He rose respectfully. "Don't say anything, sir. I have had my answer."
"Forgive me, Mr. McMurtagh," said James
