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6 American Sunday Monthly Magazine Section I entered the room Mrs. Veralour was reading a letter with a peculiar smile on her face. She nodded brightly at me as I took a chair. “What are you smiling so slyly at?’’ I demanded. “Nothing,” she returned; “at least, only this letter.” “Oh,” I said. “What lovely weather, isn’t it?” “Don’t be silly,” said Mrs. Veralour. “There’s nothing secret about the letter. It’s from young Mrs. Hilton. Do you know her?” “ 1 knew a Bob Hilton. But he was a bachelor.” “Well, they are all that, at some period of their lives,” she remarked. “But that’s whom I mean. He married Elsie Langham. Oh, of course you know her; I was forgetting.” “There’s really nothing to remember, Mrs. Veralour. She wouldn’t look at me. I wasn’t rich enough for marriage, nor poor enough for romance. Mine’s a cold mutton sort of income.” “Cold mutton isn’t bad,” Mrs. Veralour consoled me. “Some people even like it.” I shuddered. “Don’t talk of such people,” I entreated. “Go on about the Hiltons. I was abroad at the time of their marriage, you know. I had an idea she was engaged to Graham.” “So she was. That’s the funny part.” “ I don’t see anything particularly amusing in being engaged to Graham.” “That’s because you don’t know the story. Shall I tell it to you? ” “H’m,” I said hesitatingly. “It’s very humorous,” she hinted with a nod of her head. “1 daresay,” I assented doubtfully, “but these humorous stories are so often so— However I suppose I can rely on your discretion.” “Mr. Blake; the idea! I’ve half a mind not to tell you now.” “ Is that half mind intended as a sop to your con science, or a stimulant to my curiosity? ” I demanded. “Now I won’t tell you anything,” declared Mrs. Veralour angrily. “ 1 won’t say another word,” I promised. “Oh, well, in that case. You know what a pretty girl Elsie Langham was, don’tyou? and Bob Hilton was—” “ Need you trouble to describe them? ” I suggested. “Why not say she was as beautiful as he thought her, and he was as noble—” “As she thought him,” interrupted Mrs. Veralour, with an air of finishing my sentence. “Not at all; as he thought himself. But I’m interrupting you.” That’s where you are wrons, he did get a card!” c By¥.Harris Deans “Of course,” continued Mrs. Veralour, “every body knew that Bob hadn’t a half penny to bless himself with. The nicest men never have.” “I myself am no Croesus,” I agreed. “So Elsie became engaged to Mr. Graham. You know what mothers are.” “Alas, yes,” I admitted sadly. “Mrs. Langham gave a dance shortly after the engagement.” “Couldn’t she get a paragraph in the papers?” I enquired. “Still I suppose money was no object.” “Money, Mr. Blake. Why, that Graham man is worth millions.” “I suppose Hilton didn’t get a card.” “That’s just where you are wrong; he did. I suppose she thought Elsie wouldn't be such a fool as to risk losing the Graham man.” “ It’s a wise mother who knows her own daughter,” I murmured. “Well, it is, Mr. Blake. I shouldn’t have risked it myself. But still she did, and there’s the end of it.” "Oh, I thought that was the beginning of it.” “Don’t be sarcastic; you know what I mean very well. Did you know Mrs. Langham had a rich brother, Mr. Blake?” I shook my head. “Neither did I. I don’t think anybody knew; she kept him awfully quiet. He’s a cotton king, or emperor, or something; quite a self-made man.” ‘‘Oh, sis,” he said, ‘‘so you’ve brought it off” “Cnduly proud of his manufacturer, I suppose?” “ He’s an awfully nice man, Mr. Blake. Not a gen tleman, of course; but that’s nothing nowadays, is it?” “It’s the least that can be said of a man,” I ad mitted. “Well?” “Well, he was invited. Of course the idea was a thumping wedding present.” “What have I done to deserve that explanation, Mrs. Veralour? Did he turn up? ” “Yes,” said Mrs. Veralour, thoughtfully, “he turned up all right.” She sat for a while in amused silence. “Oh, yes,” she said presently, rousing herself, “he turned up. Not till late, though.” “Better late than never,” I remarked, cheerfully. “H’m,” said Mrs. Veralour, doubtfully. “He was one of those big, cheerful, out-spoken sort of men,” she continued. “I know the sort,” I assented. “Very good fellows too, if you happen to be a bit deaf.” “There was quite a crowd round Mrs. Langham when he came in, and the Graham man was standing there smirking in that greasy way of his.” “Let me see, he is rather objectionable, isn’t he.” “Of course he is; didn’t I say he was a millionaire ? Well, Mrs. Langham’s brother—I suppose he had a name of his own, but I’ve forgotten it—walked in.” “Didn’t he stride? A cotton king!” “No, he just walked like an ordinary man—in shooting boots. ‘Ah, sis,' he said, ‘so you've brought it off.’ What a thing to say in front of everybody, wasn’t it, Mr. Blake?” “Well, it was a fact, but I admit he might have let the fact speak for itself. What did Mrs. Langham say?” “Well, she didn’t say anything; what could she say? ‘‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of in kissing the man you are * going to marry ” She just turned round to introduce him to the Graham man. Oh, did I tell you that Elsie wasn’t in the room?” “You didn’t,” I said, “but you implied it. You said Graham was. I suppose Hilton wasn’t there, either?” “No, he wasn’t. But of course nobody was interested in him.” “When you say ‘nobody,’ I presume you mean in the room?” I had the satisfaction of making Mrs. Veralour look annoyed. “I’m telling this story, Mr. Blake. Don’t jump to the conclusion so.” “Sorry. Go ahead.” “Where am I? Oh, yes. Before Mrs. Langham could introduce the two, however, her brother start ed off again. ‘ I congratulate you, my girl,’ he said; positively howled it, Mr. Blake. ‘I was fearing she was going to marry some’—he stopped, and looked at the Graham man as he paused. But, of course, he didn’t say anything.” “It was unnecessary,” I commented. “I should imagine his glance was a speaking one.” “ It was. The Graham man quite curled up. ‘ But he’s a nice boy, Maria,’ went on the brother. Mrs. Langham calls herself Marie, Mr. Blake. ‘I saw him on the stairs just now with Elsie. They seem very fond of each other. And modest, loo. They both begged me not to say I'd seen them together. But there's nothing to be ashamed of in kissing the man you're going to marry." Mrs. Veralour paused dramatically, and looked at me. “Well, there isn’t, is there?” I said, refusing to be thrilled. “If he is the man you’re going to marry.” “You could have heard a pin drop, Mr. Blake,” said Mrs. Veralour, ignoring my comment. “The Graham man turned positively green.” “Then, I suppose,” I suggested, “Miss Langham and Hilton came in?” “Yes, by different doors. It wasn’t a success, that dance,” she added reflectively. “Is that all the story?” I demanded, when I con sidered she had been silent quite long enough. “That’s all," she said. “Except that the brother gave a nice fat cheque as a wedding present.” “Wedding present!” I gasped. I had not ex pected a wedding. Mrs. Veralour’s eyes sparkled at my surprise. “Yes,” she said. She picked up the letter she had been reading when I first entered, and twirled it between her fingers. “And they’ve just written to ask me to be god mother.” “Who?” I cried, exasperated. “Why, the Hiltons, of course. I thought you’d guessed that.”