pro and con, as to who is going to marry whom, and who is
about to divorce whom, and whether Miss Welland's engagement to Mr. Eyre
is authentic, 'as announced exclusively in this column'--more
exclusiveness--; or whether--"

"It wasn't Del Eyre that I came out here to marry."

"No?"

"No. It's Carter Holmesley. Of course you know about him."

"By advertisement, also; the society-column kind."

"Really, you know, he couldn't keep out of the papers. He hates it with
all his British soul. But being what he is, a prospective duke, an
international poloist, and all that sort of thing, the reporters
naturally swarm to him. Columns and columns; more pictures than a
popular _danseuse_. And all without his lifting his hand."

"_Une mariage de reclame_," observed Miss Van Arsdale. "Is it that that
constitutes his charm for you?"

Miss Van Arsdale's smile was still instinct with mockery, but there had
crept into it a quality of indulgence.

"No," answered the girl. Her face became thoughtful and serious. "It's
something else. He--he carried me off my feet from the moment I met him.
He was drunk, too, that first time. I don't believe I've ever seen him
cold sober. But it's a joyous kind of intoxication; vine-leaves and
Bacchus and that sort of thing 'weave a circle 'round him thrice'--_you_
know. It _is_ honey-dew and the milk of Paradise to him." She laughed
nervously. "And charm! It's in the very air about him. He can make me
follow his lead like a little curly poodle when I'm with him."

"Were you engaged to Delavan Eyre when you met him?"

"Oh, engaged!" returned the girl fretfully. "There was never more than a
sort of understanding. A _mariage de convenance_ on both sides, if it
ever came off. I _am_ fond of Del, too. But he was South, and the other
came like a whirlwind, and I'm--I'm queer about some things," she went
on half shamefacedly. "I suppose I'm awfully susceptible to physical
impressions. Are all girls that way? Or is that gross and--and
underbred?"

"It's part of us, I expect; but we're not all so honest with ourselves.
So you decided to throw over Mr. Eyre and marry your Briton."

"Well--yes. The new British Ambassador, who arrives from Japan next
week, is Carty's uncle, and we were going to make him stage-manage the
wedding, you see. A sort of officially certified elopement."

"More advertisement!" said Miss Van Arsdale coldly. "Really, Miss
Welland, if marriage seems to you nothing more than an o