The ex-merchant regarded Jefferson with a cool and resolute gaze. "This is not a wild-goose tale. Dora is not hysterical. Nor is this a foolish fancy of hers. She prefers young Mortimer to you, and it would be an unpardonable crime on my part to allow her to marry you." "Mortimer!--_that_ bounder!" "She loves Mortimer--and he is not, I may add, a bounder. He is as good a gentleman as I have ever met." The situation was getting serious. Jefferson took off his overcoat and lit a cigarette. Then--by way of steadying his own nerves--he mixed himself a whisky and soda. Finally he came to a halt opposite his visitor, and as he did so his lips set in an ugly and determined line. "Now, look here, Maybury," he said, blowing a column of smoke ceilingwards, "let us talk sense. Dora likes this Mortimer--I have known that for a long time. To-night his name is in every mouth--yes, I have read in the evening papers of what he has done. And so it suddenly occurs to her that she would prefer to be the wife of a brilliant young surgeon rather than of a--well, of a not very brilliant young stockbroker." Mr Maybury held up his hand, but Jefferson would not be silenced. "She comes to you in tears, declaring she cannot marry me. You, not knowing women as I do, are convinced by her tears, and come straight off to me to say the marriage can’t take place. You are, if you will excuse me for saying so, a fool. I will marry Dora to-morrow, and afterwards I will prove to you that I am as good a man as any common cad of a surgeon you may please to take into your house as a lodger!" Jefferson’s eyes were blazing with fury. The whisky had done its work. "I have already told you," returned Mr Maybury, in even, quiet tones, "that I feel very much for you. The abandonment of this match will put you in a very awkward position, but I must repeat that the marriage cannot and _shall not_ take place." "And _I_ say," shouted Jefferson, "that I will not be bested by Mortimer. He shall not marry Dora. I look to her to keep her promise. Mortimer shall never have her!" "No, he never will," said Mr Maybury. "What! You said just now that she prefers him to me!" "She will never marry him," Mr Maybury resumed, "because in all probability he will be dead within four-and-twenty hours!" "_Dead!_" Jefferson’s face lit up with renewed hope. "Yes, he has been severely mauled by a gang of Hooligans. The medical man who has seen him declares that his case is hopeless." Jefferson did not speak for a few moments. Then he burst into a laugh. "I see--I see it all! Mortimer is brought in unconscious, and Dora promptly faints. She is inclined to be sentimental, as I know. And so you come here and tell me I mustn’t marry her. Did ever man set out on such a preposterous errand? My good Maybury, I shall be at the church to-morrow, and if you and your daughter are not there you will never set foot in my office again."