ip must inevitably be numbered. There
was nothing else which Connie could wish for now: he had his clubs, his
friends, and ample means to gratify every desire; a home with wife and
children was really needed to complete the success which he had made. He
had proved himself the best of friends, which was a guarantee that he
would make a good husband. Huntington found himself echoing Cosden's
question, "Why not?"

"Have you selected the happy bride, Connie?" he asked at length, more
seriously.

"Only tentatively," was the complacent reply. "I met a girl in New York
last winter, and it seems to me she couldn't be improved upon if she had
been made to order; but I want to look the ground over a bit, and that
is where you come in. Her name is Marian Thatcher, and--"

"Thatcher--Marian Thatcher!" Huntington interrupted unexpectedly. "From
New York? Why--no, that would be ridiculous! Is she a widow?"

Cosden chuckled. "Not yet, and if she marries me it will be a long time
before she gets a chance to wear black. What put that idea in your
head?"

"Nothing," Huntington hastened to say. "I knew a girl years ago named
Marian who married a man named Thatcher, and they lived in New York."

"She is about twenty years old--"

"Not the same," Huntington remarked. Then after a moment's silence he
laughed. "What tricks Time plays us! I knew the girl I speak of when I
was in college, and I haven't seen her since her marriage. Go on with
your proposition."

"Well, she and her parents went down to Bermuda last week, and it
occurred to me that if you and I just happen down there next week it
would exactly fit into my plans. More than that, I have business reasons
for wanting to get closer to Thatcher himself. We've been against each
other on several deals, and this might mean a combination. What do you
say? Will you go?"

"Next week?" Huntington asked. "I couldn't pick up stakes in a minute
like that."

"Of course you can," Cosden persisted. "There's nothing in the world to
prevent your leaving to-night if you choose."

"There's Bill, you know."

"Well, what about Bill? Is he in any new scrape now?"

"No," Huntington admitted; "but he's sure to get into some trouble
before I return."

"Why can't his father straighten him out?"

Huntington laughed consciously. "No father ever understands his son as
well as an uncle."

"No father ever spoiled a son the way you spoil Bill--"

Huntington held up a restraining hand. "It is o