Presently there approached the desk a brisk, business-like person who asked a few business-like questions and then registered in a bold and flowing hand, “Mr. and Mrs. Robert Blake, Boston.”

“My husband,” she announced, “will be here presently.”

“He was here ten minutes ago,” said the clerk, and added particulars.

“Oh, that’s all right,” replied the slightly-puzzled but quite unexcited lady; “he’ll be back.”  And then, accompanied by bags and suitcases, she vanished aloft.

“Missed connections, somehow,” commented the clerk to the stenographer, and gave himself to the contemplation of “Past Performances” in the Evening Telegram, and to ordinary routine of a hotel office for an hour or so, when, to prove the wisdom of the lady’s calm, the excited Mr. John Blake returned.

“There must be some mistake,” he began darkly, “I’ve been to every hotel—­”

“Lady came ten minutes after you left,” said the genial clerk.  “Front, show the gentleman to 450.”  And, presently, John was explaining his dilemma to Gladys, the pretty wife of his cousin Bob.  “She is somewhere in this hotel,” he fumed, “and I’ll find her if I have to search it room by room.”

The office was hardly quiet after the appearance and disappearance of Mr. John Blake, when the clerk and the telephone-girl were again interrupted by an excited gentleman.  His white whiskers framed an anxious, kindly face, his white waistcoat bound a true and tender heart.

“Has Mr. Blake arrived?” he demanded with some haste.

“Just a minute ago,” the clerk replied, and was surprised at the disappointment his answer caused.

“I must see him,” cried the old gentleman.  “You needn’t announce me.  I’ll go right up.  I’m his wife’s uncle, and she telephoned me to come.”

“Front!” called the clerk.  “This gentleman to 450.”

At the door of 450 he dismissed his guide with suitable largesse, and softly entered the room.  It was brightly illuminated, and Uncle Richard was able clearly to contemplate his nephew of eight hours in animated converse with a handsome woman in evening dress.

“I think, sir,” said the woman, “that there is some mistake.”

“I agree with you, madam,” said Uncle Richard, “and I’m sorry for it.”

“But you are exactly the man to help us,” cried the nephew; “we are in an awful state.”

“I agree with you, sir,” repeated Uncle Richard.

“You must know how to help us,” urged the nephew.  “I’ve lost Marjorie.”

“So I should have inferred.  But she had already thrown herself away.”

“She’s lost!” stormed the bridegroom.  “Don’t you understand?  Lost, lost, lost!”

“I rather think he misunderstands,” the handsome woman interrupted.  “You’ve not told him, John, who I am.”

“You are mistaken,” replied Uncle Richard with a horrible suavity; “I understand enough.  That poor child telephoned to me not twenty minutes ago that her husband was injured, perhaps mortally, and implored my help.  I left my dinner to come to his assistance and I find him—­here—­and thus.”