“Telegram for you, sir.”

Mr. Brewster nodded carelessly.  The contents of the chafing-dish had justified the advance advertising of their odour, and he was too busy to be interrupted.

“Put it down.  And you needn’t wait, Parker.”

“Very good, sir.”

The valet withdrew, and Mr. Brewster resumed his lunch.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” asked Professor Binstead, to whom a telegram was a telegram.

“It can wait.  I get them all day long.  I expect it’s from Lucille, saying what train she’s making.”

“She returns to-day?”

“Yes, Been at Miami.”  Mr. Brewster, having dwelt at adequate length on the contents of the chafing-dish, adjusted his glasses and took up the envelope.  “I shall be glad—­Great Godfrey!”

He sat staring at the telegram, his mouth open.  His friend eyed him solicitously.

“No bad news, I hope?”

Mr. Brewster gurgled in a strangled way.

“Bad news?  Bad—?  Here, read it for yourself.”

Professor Binstead, one of the three most inquisitive men in New York, took the slip of paper with gratitude.

“‘Returning New York to-day with darling Archie,’” he read. “’Lots of love from us both.  Lucille.’” He gaped at his host.  “Who is Archie?” he enquired.

“Who is Archie?” echoed Mr. Brewster helplessly.  “Who is—?  That’s just what I would like to know.”

“‘Darling Archie,’” murmured the professor, musing over the telegram. “‘Returning to-day with darling Archie.’  Strange!”

Mr. Brewster continued to stare before him.  When you send your only daughter on a visit to Miami minus any entanglements and she mentions in a telegram that she has acquired a darling Archie, you are naturally startled.  He rose from the table with a bound.  It had occurred to him that by neglecting a careful study of his mail during the past week, as was his bad habit when busy, he had lost an opportunity of keeping abreast with current happenings.  He recollected now that a letter had arrived from Lucille some time ago, and that he had put it away unopened till he should have leisure to read it.  Lucille was a dear girl, he had felt, but her letters when on a vacation seldom contained anything that couldn’t wait a few days for a reading.  He sprang for his desk, rummaged among his papers, and found what he was seeking.

It was a long letter, and there was silence in the room for some moments while he mastered its contents.  Then he turned to the professor, breathing heavily.

“Good heavens!”

“Yes?” said Professor Binstead eagerly.  “Yes?”

“Good Lord!”

“Well?”

“Good gracious!”

“What is it?” demanded the professor in an agony.

Mr. Brewster sat down again with a thud.

“She’s married!”

“Married!”

“Married!  To an Englishman!”

“Bless my soul!”