no reference to William. As for
William, he did not write at all.

Now Marion is what you would call an ardent correspondent, as well as
being a communicative person. If she were happy she would be likely to
write no less than eight pages three times a week breathing praise of
William--I mean that would be the general tone of her letters. But now
she devoted herself exclusively to descriptions of scenery and relating
episodes regarding the constant losing and regaining of their baggage
on their journeys, which though in its way instructive, struck me as
lacking vital interest.

The affair troubled me, because I knew that I was, in a measure,
responsible for the match. William had left the decision in my hands,
and, on thinking it over, it struck me as a rather cowardly thing to
do. What right had he to put it on to me? I knew that if they were
not happy I should be haunted by remorse to the end of my days. It was
an annoying situation.

When they arrived home and wired from an hotel in London that they were
coming up to see me the next day my trepidation increased. Supposing
they came to me with reproaches, even recriminations? I awaited their
visit in a subdued frame of mind.

Not so Elizabeth. Her jubilant air, her triumphant expression when she
spoke of the newly wedded pair, ended by irritating me.

'Getting married isn't the only thing in life; as you seem to think,' I
said rather severely, after a remark of hers that she was glad to think
Marion was so happily settled.

'Maybe not, but it's the best,' she commented, 'an' as I always sed
about Miss Marryun----'

'Mrs. Rawlings,' I corrected.

'Lor', I'll never get used to the name. Mrs. Roarings, then, 'as only
got me to thank for the present 'appy state o' things.'

'What do you mean?' I asked, only half interested.

'Well, it's like this yeer,' answered Elizabeth, 'I see from the very
first that Mr. Roarings an' Miss Marryun were just suited to each
other. The trouble was they didn't see it theirselves, an' so I 'elped
to open their eyes like.'

'Explain,' I commanded.

Elizabeth did so. She unfolded a tale that, as she proceeded step by
step, left me speechless with horror. That she should have so basely
conspired to throw William and Marion at each other and, by
misrepresentations, lies and every kind of deception, brought about the
match, utterly appalled me. Everything suddenly became clear. William
had married through a mispl