your breath. The trouble is, you are not the only man who is in that peculiar fix."
"I know," he said, frowning darkly. "She's being annoyed by that infernal blighter."
"Oho, so you do know, then?" she cried. "She was very careful to leave you out of the story altogether. Well, I'm glad you know. What are you going to do about it?"
"I? Why,—why, what can I do?"
"There is a great deal you can do."
"But she has laid down the law, hard and fast. She won't let me," he groaned.
The Marchioness blinked rapidly. "Well, of all the stupid,— Say that again, please."
"She won't let me. I would in a second, you know,—no matter if it did land me in jail for—"
"What are you talking about?" she gasped.
"Punching his bally head till he wouldn't know it himself in the mirror," he grated, looking at his fist almost tearfully.
The Marchioness opened her lips to say something, thought better of it, and turned her head to smile.
"Moreover," he went on, "she's right. Might get her into no end of a mess with those people, you see. It breaks my heart to think of her—"
"He wants her to run away with him and be married," she broke in.
"What!" he almost shouted, glaring at her as if she were the real offender. "You—did she tell you that?"
"Yes. He rather favours San Francisco. He wants her to go out there with him and be married by
