That Duke won't have seven millions next September, it's true, but he'll have a prodigious argument against me, about the twenty-first or second." 

 Then a brilliant thought occurred to him which caused him to ring for a messenger-boy with such a show of impatience that Rawles stood aghast. The telegram which Monty wrote was as follows: 

 

 SWEARENGEN JONES, Butte, Montana 

 May I marry and turn all property over to wife, providing she will have me? 

 MONTGOMERY BREWSTER. 

 

 "Why isn't that reasonable?" he asked himself after the boy had gone. "Making property over to one's wife is neither a loan nor is it charity. Old Jones might call it needless extravagance, since he's a bachelor, but it's generally done because it's good business." Monty was hopeful. 

 Following his habit in trouble, he sought Margaret Gray, to whom he could always appeal for advice and consolation. She was to come to his next dinner-party, and it was easy to lead up to the subject in hand by mentioning the other guests. 

 "And Barbara Drew," he concluded, after naming all the others. They were alone in the library, and she was drinking in the details of the dinner as he related them. 

 "Wasn't she at your first dinner?" she asked, quickly. 

 He successfully affected mild embarrassment. 

 "Yes." 

 "She must be very attractive." There was no venom in Peggy's heart. 

 "She is attractive. In fact, she's one of the best, Peggy," he said, paving the way. 

 "It's too bad she seems to care for that little Duke." 

 "He's a bounder," he argued. 

 "Well, don't take it to heart. You don't have to marry him," and Peggy laughed. 

 "But I do take it to heart, Peggy," said Monty, seriously. "I'm pretty hard hit, and I want your help. A sister's advice is always the best in a matter of this sort." 

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