happening."

I had always liked the young woman. Mr. Quincey had suggested my
waiting till after Wednesday. But there seemed to me no particular
object in delay.

"Are you fond of him?" I asked her.

"Yes," she answered. "I am fonder than--" And then she stopped
herself suddenly and flared scarlet. "Who are you talking about?" she
demanded.

"This young man of yours," I said. "Mr.--What's his name--Onions?"

"Oh, that?" she answered. "Oh, yes; he's all right."

"And if he wasn't?" I said, and she looked at me hard.

"I told him," she said, "that if he would do what I asked him to do,
I'd marry him. And he seems to have done it."

"There are ways of doing everything," I said; and, seeing it wasn't
going to break her heart, I told her just the plain facts. She
listened without a word, and when I had finished she put her arms round
my neck and kissed me. I am old enough to be her grandfather, but
twenty years ago it might have upset me.

"I think I shall be able to save Miss Bulstrode that three hundred
pounds," she laughed, and ran upstairs and changed her things. When
later I looked into the kitchen she was humming.

Mr. John came up by the car, and I could see he was in one of his moods.

"Pack me some things for a walking tour," he said. "Don't forget the
knapsack. I am going to Scotland by the eight-thirty."

"Will you be away long?" I asked him.

"It depends upon how long it takes me," he answered. "When I come back
I am going to be married."

"Who is the lady?" I asked, though, of course, I knew.

"Miss Bulstrode," he said.

"Well," I said, "she--"

"That will do," he said; "I have had all that from the three of them
for the last two days. She is a Socialist, and a Suffragist, and all
the rest of it, and my ideal helpmate. She is well off, and that will
enable me to devote all my time to putting the world to rights without
bothering about anything else. Our home will be the nursery of
advanced ideas. We shall share together the joys and delights of the
public platform. What more can any man want?"

"You will want your dinner early," I said, "if you are going by the
eight-thirty. I had better tell cook--"

He interrupted me again.

"You can tell cook to go to the devil," he said.

I naturally stared at him.

"She is going to marry a beastly little rotter of a rent collector that
she doesn't care a damn for," he went on.

I could not understand why he seemed so mad abo