"Reprieve?" said Jack. "I don't think it's the sort of letter that a girl should write to a man who told her that he was going to blow his brains out on her doorstep. It doesn't seem to be altogether the right sort of thing under the circumstances." "Why, confound it, man, isn't this the very letter that you wanted to get? You didn't really want to run away with her? You said so yourself." "Oh, that's all right; but a fellow likes to be appreciated." "So, after all, you wanted her to elope with you?" "Well, not that, exactly. At the same time, I didn't want a point-blank refusal." "You ought to be glad she showed so much sense. It's all the better for you. It is an additional help to you in your difficulties." "I don't see how it helps me," said Jack, in a kind of growl. "I don't see why she refused to run off with a fellow." Now such was the perversity of Jack that he actually felt ill-natured about this letter, although it was the very thing that he knew was best for him. He was certainly relieved from one of his many difficulties, but at the same time he was vexed and mortified at this rejection of his proposal. And he dwelt upon his disappointment until at length he brought himself to believe that "Number Three's" letter was something like a personal slight, if not an insult. He dropped in again toward evening. "Macrorie," said he, "there's one place where I always find sympathy. What do you say, old fellow, to going this evening to-- CHAPTER X. "BERTON'S?--BEST PLACE IN THE TOWN.--GIRLS ALWAYS GLAD TO SEE A FELLOW.--PLENTY OF CHAT, AND LOTS OF FUN.--NO END OF LARKS, YOU KNOW, AND ALL THAT SORT OF THING."