he route also followed by
those upon their honeymoon. If what he observed was sentiment at its
zenith, then he did not care for it. Bridegrooms made the poorest sort
of traveling companions; and that, after all, was the supreme test of
men. They appeared restless, dazed, and were continually looking at
their watches. Few of them were able to talk intelligently or to play
a decent game of bridge.

Perhaps, too, he had been unfortunate in the result of his observations
of the same passion in its later stages; but it is certain that those
were not inspiring, either. Chic Warren was an exception. He seemed
fairly happy and normal, but Covington would never forget the night he
spent there when Chic, Junior had the whooping-cough. He walked by
Chic's side up and down the hall, up and down the hall, up and down the
hall, with Chic a ghastly white and the sweat standing in beads upon
his forehead. His own throat had tightened and he grew weak in the
knees every time the rubber-soled nurse stole into sight. Every now
and then he heard that gasping cough, and felt the spasmodic grip of
Chic's fingers upon his arm. It was terrible; for weeks afterward
Covington heard that cough.

At the end of an hour Covington turned back, wheeling like a soldier on
parade. There had never seemed to him any reason why, when a man was
entirely comfortable, as he was, he should take the risk of a change.
He had told Chic as much when sometimes the latter, over a pipe, had
introduced the subject. The last time, Chic had gone a little farther
than usual.

"But, man alive!" Chic had exclaimed. "A day will come when you'll be
sorry."

"I don't believe it," Monte answered.

Yet it was only yesterday that he had wandered over half Paris in
search of something to bring his schedule back to normal. And he had
found it--in front of the Opera House at eleven o'clock at night.

Monte strode into his hotel with a snap that made the little clerk
glance up in surprise.

"Any mail for me?" he inquired.

"A telephone message, monsieur."

He handed Monte an envelope. It was not often that he received
telephone messages. It read as follows:--

Can't you come over? Teddy was very angry about the taxi, and I think
I shall leave Paris tonight. The flowers were beautiful.

Monte felt his breath coming fast.

"How long has this been waiting for me?" he demanded.

"A half-hour, monsieur."

He hurried out the door and into a taxi.