he will get over it when I talk with him about his coffee people.
Some of his agents out there want looking after."

"Oh!--how lovely, my precious; talking coffee will be much pleasanter
than talking me!--and yet we have got to do it somehow when he comes
home."

And down went her head again, she nestling the closer as if terrified at
the thought of the impending meeting; then another kiss
followed--dozens of them--neither of them keeping count, and then--and
then--...................................

And then--Ben tapped gently and announced that dinner was served, and
Harry stared at the moon-faced dial and saw that it was long after two
o'clock, and wondered what in the world had become of the four hours
that had passed since he had rushed down from his uncle's and into
Kate's arms.

And so we will leave them--playing housekeeping--Harry pulling out
her chair, she spreading her dainty skirts and saying "Thank you, Mr.
Rutter--" and Ben with his face in so broad a grin that it got set
that way--Aunt Dinah, the cook, having to ask him three times "Was he
gwineter hab a fit" before he could answer by reason of the chuckle
which was suffocating him.

And now as we must close the door for a brief space on the happy
couple--never so happy in all their lives--it will be just as well for
us to find out what the mischief is going on at the club--for there is
something going on--and that of unusual importance.

Everybody is out on the front steps. Old Bowdoin is craning his short
neck, and Judge Pancoast is saying that it is impossible and then
instatly changing his mind, saying: "By jove it is!"--and Richard
Horn and Warfield and Murdoch are leaning over the balcony rail still
unconvinced and old Harding is pounding his fat thigh with his pudgy
hand in ill-concealed delight.

Yes--there is no doubt of it--hasn't been any doubt of it since the
judge shouted out the glad tidings which emptied every chair in the
club: Across the park, beyond the rickety, vine-covered fence and close
beside the Temple Mansion, stands a four-in-hand, the afternoon sun
flashing from the silver mountings of the harness and glinting on the
polished body and wheels of the coach. Then a crack of the whip, a wind
of the horn, and they are off--the leaders stretching the traces, two
men on the box, two grooms in the rear. Hurrah! Well, by thunder, who
would have believed it--that's Temple inside on the back seat! "There
he is waving his hand a