"Oh, I am so sorry," she said, "I had told one person before your note came. She won't tell though." "Being a 'she,'" he retorted mockingly. "Oh, it was only Alice," May explained, "and of course she can be trusted." It was his turn to become serious, and in the cloud on his sunny face there was not a little vexation. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "Of all the women in Boston why must you pick out the one that I was most particular shouldn't know! You girls have an instinct for mischief." "But I wrote to her as soon as your note came; besides, she has promised not to say anything. She won't tell." "No; she won't tell," he echoed moodily. "What did she say?" May cast down her eyes in evident embarrassment. "Oh, it's no matter," Jack went on. "She wouldn't say half as hard things as she must think. However, it's all one in the end. Good-night." With this abrupt farewell he left his betrothed, and went hastily out into the spring night, with its velvety darkness and abundant stars. The mention of Alice Endicott had robbed him of the gay spirits in which he had carried on his odd interview with May. The teasing jollity of manner was gone as he walked thoughtfully back to his chambers. He found Fairfield in their common parlor. "Dick," he said without preface, "congratulate me. I'm engaged." "Engaged!" exclaimed the other, jumping up and extending his hand. "Congratulations, old fellow. Of course it's Alice Endicott." "No," his friend responded coolly; "it's May Calthorpe." "What!" cried Fairfield, starting back and dropping his hand before Neligage had time to take it. "Miss Calthorpe? What do you mean?" "Just as I say, my boy. The engagement is a secret at present, you understand. I thought you'd like to know it, though; and by the way, it'll show that I've perfect confidence in you if I turn over to you the letter that May wrote to you before we were engaged. That one to Christopher Calumus, you know." "But," stammered his chum, apparently trying to collect his wits, scattered by the unexpected news and this strange proposition, "how can you tell what's in it?" "Tell what's in it, my boy? It isn't any of my business. That has to do with a part of her life that doesn't belong to me, you know. It's enough for me that she wrote the letter for you to have, and so here it is." He put the envelope into the hands of Dick, who received it as if he were a post-box on the corner, having no choice but to take any missive thrust at him. "Good-night," Jack said. "I'm played out, and mean to turn in. Thanks for your good wishes." And he ended that eventful day, so far as the world of men could have cognizance, by retiring to his own room. XVIII THE MISCHIEF OF MEN