ou again, Hugh.
When did you recrudesce?"

"An hour ago," Drummond answered for him; "blew in here as large as life
and twice as important. He's been running a gold farm out in New Guinea.
What do you know about that?"

"It's very interesting," Max conceded. "I shall have to cultivate him; I
never neglect a man with money. If you'll stick around a few minutes,
Hugh, I'll take you up-town in my car." He turned to Drummond,
completely ignoring Whitaker while he went into the details of some
action he desired the lawyer to undertake on his behalf. Then, having
talked steadily for upwards of ten minutes, he rose and prepared to go.

"You've asked him, of course?" he demanded of Drummond, nodding toward
Whitaker.

Drummond flushed slightly. "No chance," he said. "I was on the point of
doing it when you butted in."

"What's this?" inquired Whitaker.

Max delivered himself of a startling bit of information: "He's going to
get married."

Whitaker stared. "Drummond? Not really?"

Drummond acknowledged his guilt brazenly: "Next week, in fact."

"But why didn't you say anything about it?"

"You didn't give me an opening. Besides, to welcome a deserter from the
Great Beyond is enough to drive all other thoughts from a man's mind."

"There's to be a supper in honour of the circumstances, at the Beaux
Arts to-night," supplemented Max. "You'll come, of course."

"Do you think you could keep me away with a dog?"

"Wouldn't risk spoiling the dog," said Drummond. He added with a
tentative, questioning air: "There'll be a lot of old-time acquaintances
of yours there, you know."

"So much the better," Whitaker declared with spirit. "I've played dead
long enough."

"As you think best," the lawyer acceded. "Midnight, then--the Beaux
Arts."

"I'll be there--and furthermore, I'll be waiting at the church a week
hence--or whenever it's to come off. And now I want to congratulate
you." Whitaker held Drummond's hand in one of those long, hard grips
that mean much between men. "But mostly I want to congratulate her. Who
is she?"

"Sara Law," said Drummond, with pride in his quick color and the lift of
his chin.

"Sara Law?" The name had a familiar ring, yet Whitaker failed to
recognize it promptly.

"The greatest living actress on the English-speaking stage," Max
announced, preening himself importantly. "My own discovery."

"You don't mean to say you haven't heard of her. Is New Guinea, then, so
utterly abandoned to the