At this point Martin sought Emily Tweksbury and bullied her into action.

Mrs. Tweksbury had not unpacked her trunks yet and was sorely depressed about Raymond.

“I wish I had stuck to Maine,” she deplored, “and devoted myself to the boy.  He looks like a fallen angel.

“Ken, what have you been doing to yourself?” she had asked.

“Just pegging away, Aunt Emily.”

“Ken,” Mrs. Tweksbury had an awful habit of felling the obvious by a blow of her common-sense hatchet; “Ken, you’ve got to be married.  You’re not the kind to float around town and enjoy it—­and you are the kind that would enjoy the other.”

“Oh!  I’m having a bully time, Aunt Emily.”

“That’s not true, Ken.  Life lacks salt; you look the need of it and I blame myself for going abroad.”

“I’m glad you went!” fervently said Raymond.

“You are, eh?  Well, I’m not going again until you’re safely married.”

At this Raymond found that he could laugh, and just then the hatchet fell, for Doctor Martin had entered the arena and Mrs. Tweksbury had agreed to help.

“Do you remember my speaking of that niece of Miss Fletcher’s last spring?” she asked.

“Yes.  I do recall it.  Wasn’t she to come here—­or something like that?”

“Yes, she was, but she isn’t.  Doris Fletcher has brought her girl up to town herself and the old house is opened.  I called there the other day.  Ken, that girl is the loveliest thing I ever saw!”

“Is she?” Raymond was sitting on the edge of the table in Mrs. Tweksbury’s dressing room.  When she got through talking he was going to bed.  He had to stifle a yawn.

“Yes, she is.  She’s not only the prettiest girl I’ve seen for many a year, but she’s the girl.”

“For what?” Raymond swung his lifted foot while he balanced with the other.

“For you, Ken!” The crash unsettled Raymond and he brought his free foot to the floor.

“Oh! come,” he blurted; “don’t begin that sort of rubbish, Aunt Emily.  I thought you were above that.”

“I’m not, Ken.  I would go slow if I dared, but this girl will be snapped up before we get in touch with her, unless we act quick.”

“Aunt Emily!  For heaven’s sake, is the girl hanging about open-mouthed for the first hook tossed to her?”

“No.  But, Ken, she is the kind that men want—­the kind they hold sacred in their souls and hardly dare hope ever to see in the flesh.  The girl made me want to grab her.  I remember as a child she was charming—­she’s a perfect, but very human, woman now.”

With this Mrs. Tweksbury dilated upon what Doris had confided of Nancy’s loyal and devoted life.

“You see, Ken,” Mrs. Tweksbury ran on, “the girl is like a rare thing that you cannot debate much about, and once lost, the opportunity will never come again.  I’ve gone off about her, Ken.”

“I should say you had!  Will you smoke, Aunt Emily?”