sly and obviously, "playing for time"; the health of people's
fathers did not cause weekly extensions of this sort. But what was
it that the young lady expected time to effect for her? Her release,
formally, by her young man, on the ground of his worldly ill fortune? Or
was it for an offer from the owner of the Hermana that she was waiting,
before she should take the step of formally releasing John Mayrant? No,
neither of these conjectures seemed to furnish a key to the tactics
of Miss Rieppe and the theory that each of these affianced parties was
strategizing to cause the other to assume the odium of breaking their
engagement, with no result save that of repeatedly countermanding a
wedding-cake, struck me as belonging admirably to a stage-comedy in
three acts, but scarcely to life as we find it. Besides, poor John
Mayrant was, all too plainly, not strategizing; he was playing as
straight a game as the honest heart of a gentleman could inspire. And
so, baffled at all points, I said (for I simply had to try something
which might lead to my sharing in Kings Port's vibrating secret):--

"I can't make out whether she wants to marry him or not."

Mrs. Gregory answered. "That is just what she is coming to see for
herself."

"But since her love was for his phosphates only--!" was my natural
exclamation.

It caused (and this time I did not expect it) my inveterate ladies to
consult each other's expressions. They prolonged their silence so much
that I spoke again:--

"And backing out of this sort of thing can be done, I should think,
quite as cleverly, and much more simply, from a distance."

It was Mrs. Weguelin who answered now, or, rather, who headed me off.
"Have you been able to make out whether he wants to marry her or not?"

"Oh, he never comes near any of that with me!"

"Certainly not. But we all understand that he has taken a fancy to you,
and that you have talked much with him."

So they all understood this, did they? This, too, had played its
little special part in the buzz? Very well, then, nothing of my private
impressions should drop from my lips here, to be quoted and misquoted
and battledored and shuttlecocked, until it reached the boy himself (as
it would inevitably) in fantastic disarrangement. I laughed. "Oh, yes!
I have talked much with him. Shakespeare, I think, was our latest
subject."

Mrs. Weguelin was plainly watching for something to drop. "Shakespeare!"
Her tone was of surprise.

I then