“Aunt Adoree”; there were an ermine coat and a toy theater, also a full morocco set of Lives of Famous Musicians, in six volumes, this being an afterthought of Pope’s, who feared the effects of Bob’s low musical tastes upon a tender child.  In addition to all these there was an elaborate enameled baby’s bed with garlands of bisque flowers and a point d’esprit canopy.  This Adoree’s sad-faced footman had held upon the front of the automobile during an embarrassing trip up Fifth Avenue and Riverside Drive.

During the examination of these interesting objects the lovers made known their happiness; then, after the customary felicitations, Adoree explained:  “Everything is arranged.  We are going to be quietly married at once—­I’m afraid he’ll get away from me if I put it off—­”

“Not a chance!” Pope’s sallow face colored happily.

“As soon as I finish my theatrical contract,” Adoree ran on, “we are going to drop quietly out of sight and stay out of sight.”

“Going to live abroad?” Bob inquired.

“Worse!” Pope explained.  “Long Island.  We’re going to raise ducks.”

“Ducks!” Adoree echoed, beatifically.  “Hundreds and thousands of ducks!  Little ducks and big ducks, fuzzy ones and smooth ones.  Campbell can write plays, and I’ll wear kimonos and be comfortable.  It’s wonderful to think about, isn’t it?”

Pope supplemented her eagerly.  “I’m looking for a bungalow on salt-water, with a south exposure for the brooder-houses.  Say!  We’re going to live.  I tell you, Bob, there’s money in ducks.  I’m reading up on the subject.  My dear fellow, do you realize that—­” He swung into his pet subject so swiftly that Bob could not head him off and was forced to listen somewhat dazedly.

Lorelei reached forth and drew Adoree down to her, whispering:  “I’m so glad, dear.  I knew he would end by loving you, for everybody does.”

Pope concluded a lengthy harangue by saying:  “My mistake last year was in the food.  Ducks need soft food.”

“Listen!” Bob raised a hand and nodded in the direction of the girls.  “They’re discussing that very subject.”

“Top milk, indeed!” Adoree was crying, indignantly.  “Ours will have cream when they want it, and lots of it too.”

“My dear!  It will be fatal.”  Lorelei was horrified.  “Use nothing but top milk and barley-water.  Be sure to sterilize the bottles and soak the nipples in borax—­”

“Say!” Campbell Pope flushed painfully and rose to his feet.  “They’re not talking ducks.  Women haven’t the least delicacy, have they?  Let’s go out and smoke.”