s Barrison, "it may be interesting
from a purely scientific point of view, but it has already proved a
bar to my marrying."

"Were the kittens black?" I inquired.

"No," he said, "my aunt drew the color-line, I am proud to say."

"I don't see," said Miss Barrison, "why the fact that your great-aunt
is a cat should prevent you from marrying."

"It wouldn't prevent _me_!" said the young man, quickly.

"Nor me," mused Miss Barrison--"if I were really in love."

Meanwhile I had been very busy thinking about Professor Farrago, and,
coming to an interesting theory, advanced it.

"If," I began, "he marries one of those transparent ladies, what about
the children?"

"Some would be, no doubt, transparent," said Kensett.

"They might be only translucent," suggested Miss Barrison.

"Or partially opaque," I ventured. "But it's a risky marriage--not to
be able to see what one's wife is about--"

"That is a silly reflection on women," said Miss Barrison, quietly.
"Besides, a girl need not be transparent to conceal what she's
doing."

This observation seemed to end our postprandial and tripartite
conference; Miss Barrison retired to her stateroom presently; after a
last cigar, smoked almost in silence, the young man and I bade each
other a civil good-night and retired to our respective berths.

I think it was at Richmond, Virginia, that I was awakened by the negro
porter shaking me very gently and repeating, in a pleasant, monotonous
voice: "Teleg'am foh you, suh! Teleg'am foh Mistuh Gilland, suh. 'Done
call you 'lev'm times sense breakfass, suh! Las' call foh luncheon,
suh. Teleg'am foh--"

"Heavens!" I muttered, sitting up in my bunk, "is it as late as that!
Where are we?" I slid up the window-shade and sat blinking at a flood
of sunshine.

"Telegram?" I said, yawning and rubbing my eyes. "Let me have it. All
right, I'll be out presently. Shut that curtain! I don't want the
entire car to criticise my pink pajamas!"

"Ain' nobody in de cyar, 'scusin yo'se'f, suh," grinned the porter,
retiring.

I heard him, but did not comprehend, sitting there sleepily unfolding
the scrawled telegram. Suddenly my eyes flew wide open; I scanned the
despatch with stunned incredulity:

"ATLANTA, GEORGIA.

"We couldn't help it. Love at first sight. Married this
morning in Atlanta. Wildly happy. Forgive. Wire blessing.

"(Signed) HAROLD KENSETT,
"HELEN BARRISON KENSETT."

"Porter!"