e fact that
there must have been hundreds of Annies who enjoyed no separate
existence, married women who had no property qualification to appear on
ratepayers' lists; anonymous Annies, who perhaps employed that as a pet
name, instead of the name with which they had been christened.

He had one or two clues and was following these industriously. For the
moment, however, he must drop this work and concentrate his mind upon
the tremendous and remarkable business which his coming marriage
involved. He had a series of articles to write for the _Monitor_, and he
applied himself feverishly to this work.

It was two nights before his marriage that he carried the last of his
work to the great newspaper office on the Thames Embankment, and
delivered his manuscript in person to the editor.

That smiling man offered his congratulations to the embarrassed youth.

"I suppose we shall not be looking for any articles from you for quite a
long time," he said, at parting.

"I hope so," said the other. "I do not see why I should starve because I
am married. My wife will be a very rich woman," he said quietly, "but so
far as I am concerned that will make no difference; I do not intend
taking one penny of her fortune."

The journalist clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good lad," he said, approvingly; "the man who lives on his wife's
income is a man who has ceased to live."

"That sounds like an epigram," smiled Frank.

He looked at his watch as he descended the stairs. It was nine o'clock
and he had not dined; he would go up to an eating house in Soho and have
his frugal meal before he retired for the night. He had had a heavy day,
and a heavier day threatened on the morrow. Outside the newspaper office
was a handsome new car, its lacquer work shining in the electric light.
Frank was passing when the chauffeur called him.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, touching his cap, "are you Mr. Frank
Doughton?"

"That is my name," said Frank, in surprise, for he did not recognize
the man.

"I have been asked to call and pick you up, sir."

"Pick me up?" asked the astonished Frank--"by whom?"

"By Sir George Frederick," said the man, respectfully.

Frank knew the name of the member of Parliament and puzzled his brain as
to whether he had ever met him.

"But what does Sir George want with me?" he asked.

"He wanted five minutes' conversation with you, sir," said the man.

It would have been churlish to have refused the member's request;