And now I noticed that Jack's unhappy tendency to--well, to _conciliate_ ladies--was in full swing. Didn't I see him, then and there, slyly try to take poor little Louie's hand, utterly forgetful of the disastrous result of a former attempt on what he believed to be that same hand? Didn't I see Louie civilly draw it away, and move her chair farther off from his? Didn't I see him flush up and begin to utter apologies? Didn't I hear Louie begin to talk of operas, and things in general; and soon after, didn't I see her rise and come over to Laura, and Nina, and me, as we were playing dummy? Methinks I did. Oh, Louie! Oh, Jack! Is she destined to be Number Four! or, good Heavens! Number Forty? Why, the man's mad! He engages himself to every girl he sees! Home again. Jack was full of Louie. "Such fun! such life! Did you ever see any thing like her?" "But the widow, Jack?" "Hang the widow!" "Miss Phillips?" "Bother Miss Phillips!" "And Number Three?" Jack's face grew sombre, and he was silent for a time. At length a sudden thought seized him. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I got a letter to-day, which I haven't opened. Excuse me a moment, old chap." So saying, he pulled a letter from his pocket, opened it, and read it. He told me the contents. It was from Miss Phillips, and she told her dearest Jack that her father was about moving to Quebec to live. CHAPTER XI. "MACRORIE, MY BOY, HAVE YOU BEEN TO ANDERSON'S YET?"--"NO."--"WELL, THEN, I WANT YOU ATTEND TO THAT BUSINESS OF THE STONE TO-MORROW. DON'T FORGET THE SIZE--FOUR FEET BY EIGHTEEN INCHES; AND NOTHING BUT THE NAME AND DATE. THE TIME'S COME AT LAST. THERE'S NO PLACE FOR ME BUT THE COLD GRAVE, WHERE THE PENSIVE PASSER-BY MAY DROP A TEAR OVER THE MOURNFUL FATE OF JACK RANDOLPH. AMEN. R. I. P." Such was the remarkable manner in which Jack Randolph accosted me, as he entered my room on the following day at about midnight. His face was more rueful than ever, and, what was more striking, his clothes and hair seemed neglected. This convinced me more than any thing that he had received some new blow, and that it had struck home. "You seem hard hit, old man," said I. "Where is it? Who is it?" Jack groaned. "Has Miss Phillips come?" "No." "Is it the widow?" "No." "Number Three?" Jack shook his head. "Not duns?" "No." "Then I give up." "It's Louie," said Jack, with an expression of face that was as near an approximation to what is called sheepishness as any thing I ever saw. "Louie?" I repeated. "Yes--" "What of her? What has she been doing? How is it possible? Good Heavens! you haven't--" I stopped at the fearful suspicion that came to me. "Yes, I have!" said Jack, sulkily. "I know what you mean. I've proposed to her." I started up from the sofa on which I was lounging--my pipe dropped to the ground--a tumbler followed. I struck my clinched fist on the table.