being unmarried, for we were all bachelors except the colonel,
and he had, as a variety, told the reasons why he wished he was
unmarried (his wife was away). Jack Dexter, however, had not
spoken, and it was only in response to a direct appeal that he
related the following story. The story may be true or untrue,
but I must remark that Jack always had rather a weakness for
representing himself on terms of condescending intimacy with
the nobility and even greater folk.

Jack sighed deeply. There was a sympathetic silence. Then he
began:

"For some reason best known to herself," said Jack, with a
patient shrug of his shoulders, "the Duchess of Medmenham (I
don't know whether any of you fellows know her) chose to object
to me as a suitor for the hand of her daughter, Mary Fitzmoine.
The woman was so ignorant that she may really have thought that
my birth was not equal to her daughter's; but all the world knows
that the Munns were yeomen two hundred years ago, and that her
Grace's family hails from a stucco villa in the neighborhood of
Cardiff. However, the duchess did object; and when the season
(in the course of which I had met Lady Mary many times) ended,
instead of allowing her daughter to pay a series of visits at
houses where I had arranged to be, she sent her off to
Switzerland, under the care of a dragon whom she had engaged to
keep me and other dangerous fellows at a proper distance. On
hearing of what had happened from George Fitzmoine (an intimate
friend of mine), I at once threw up my visits and started in
pursuit. I felt confident that Lady Mary was favorably inclined
(in fact, I had certain proofs which--but no matter), and that if