same city. And that they must be married under those names.

The young man stared until his black eyes looked big as old Booth's in
the last scene of "Richard."

"But why?" he inquired.

"A practical joke, I tell you. Ah, how hard you are to manage! Why can
you not trust me through a little mystery like this--a little practical
joke like this?"

"I _do_ trust you; but I am afraid that it might seem like a practical
forgery to be married under another person's name," he replied.

"Nonsense! Do you think that I could be such an idiot as to implicate
you in any act that might be construed into forgery, practical or
otherwise?" she inquired, with a light laugh.

"Oh, no, certainly you are not the lady to do that!" he admitted.

"Well, then, what next? You look as solemn as a judge or an owl!"

"I am afraid, also, that if I should be married under any other name
than my own our marriage itself might turn out to be nothing more than a
practical joke instead of a legal union."

"Mr. Kyte!" she suddenly exclaimed, with her eyes flashing fire. "You
insult me! Am I the sort of woman that would compromise my good name in
a marriage of doubtful legality?"

"Oh, no; certainly you would not! Nor did I mean that. I earnestly beg
your pardon!" said Craven, penitently.

"You are a silly gander, and a dear, darling duck of a boy! And I love
you! But you must understand that I know what I am about. And you must
trust me--you must trust me; and, once for all, you must _trust_ me!"
she said, archly, giving his arm another squeeze.

"I do--I do! Come; shall we be going? I am on the rack till our wedding
is over."

"Yes; but we must take a cab. The distance is a long one."

"There is a cab-stand a couple of blocks from here. I noticed it as I
came along. We will take one there, if you please."

She assented, and they walked on to the stand and engaged a cab.

When they were seated in it Craven Kyte ordered the cabman to drive to
the rectory of St. ---- Church.

Half an hour's driving brought them to their destination.

When the cab drew up to the door of the house, Craven was about to
alight, when Mary Grey stopped him.

"Wait," she said.

And taking from her card-case a pencil and a blank card, she wrote upon
it the name:

"Mr. Alden Lytton."

"Send that in," she said, handing the card to the bewildered young man.

Craven Kyte took it, looked at it attentively, and then exclaimed:

"Why, that is exactly like Mr