I've gone and done it.
I'm going to be married in June, and I want you to be my best man."

Warrington's hand went out impulsively.

"Oh, I felt it in my bones when your card came in," he said,
rearranging the glasses. "Lucky woman! Long life to you, Jack, and
long happiness!"

"Thank you, Dick." (Ceremonial recurrence of drinking a health.)

"Now, out with it. Who is she, and all about her?"

"Dick, I'm genuinely sorry, but I'm still under bond of silence."

"More mysteries!" cried Warrington, with evident discontent.

"Only for a week, when, if you say, we'll have breakfast here in these
very rooms.

"Done. Only I must say you're a bit hard on me to-night.

"I'm sorry."

"Let me see; I'll describe her for you. Beautiful."

"Yes."

"Accomplished."

"Very."

"A woman who will be both wife and comrade."

"Exactly."

"An American."

"In all things."

"You make me envious."

"Why don't you get married yourself?"

"Bah!" Warrington went to the window and looked down upon the street.

Bennington eyed his broad shoulders sympathetically. He looked down at
the limp, smooth skins in his hand, and sat up stiffly. From the
gloves to Warrington and back again to the gloves, his gaze traveled.
With an impulse rather mechanical he raised the gloves to his nose.
Quickly he dropped them on the desk, took up the photograph, rose and
replaced it on the mantel. Hearing him, Warrington turned.

"No, Jack, I doubt if I shall ever be lucky enough to find the one
woman. I've been so busy that I've never had time to hunt for
happiness. And those who hunt for it never find it, and those who wait
for it can not see it standing at their side."

Bennington wandered about, from object to object. Here he picked up a
dagger, there a turquoise in the matrix, and again some inlaid wood
from Sorrento. From these his interest traveled to and lingered over
some celebrated autographs.

"Happiness is a peculiar thing," went on the dramatist. "It is far
less distinctive than fame or fortune. They sometimes knock at your
door, but happiness steals in without warning, and often leaves as
mysteriously as it comes."

Bennington paused to examine a jade cigarette case, which he opened
and closed aimlessly. And there were queer little Japanese ash-trays
that arrested his attention.

"Men like you and me, Jack, never marry unless we love. It is never a
business transaction."

"It is love or nothing," said Bennington, turning