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!” 

 “She says,” proceeded Mr. Brewster, referring to the letter again, “that they were both so much in love that they simply had to slip off and get married, and she hopes I won’t be cross. Cross!” gasped Mr. Brewster, gazing wildly at his friend. 

 “Very disturbing!” 

 “Disturbing! You bet it’s disturbing! I don’t know anything about the fellow. Never heard of him in my life. She says he wanted a quiet wedding because he thought a fellow looked such a chump getting married! And I must love him, because he’s all set to love me very much!” 

 “Extraordinary!” 

 Mr. Brewster put the letter down. 

 “An Englishman!” 

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