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brother-in-law, his eyes twinkling. Walter is the most amiable man; he seems always to be on the verge of laughter. I was about to refuse when I realized that there might be a lingering aroma about my person, from the last whiskey I had drunk; and that Emerson, in the course of our customary pre-dinner rituals, would be sure to detect its aroma, which would lead to questions I preferred to avoid.
    "What a splendid idea," I said. "I will just take a glass upstairs with me; it is a sovereign remedy for warding off a cold."
    Once we had reached the privacy of our rooms, I managed to take a sip of the whiskey before Emerson proceeded to do what I had expectedhe would. "At least wait until I remove my wet gown," I suggested. "You will have to change too; your shirt is already quite—"
    "Mmmmm," said Emerson, more precise articulation being at that moment beyond his powers. With the agility I had come to expect and admire, he assisted me to accomplish the suggested change without interrupting what he was doing for more than a few moments.
    Much as I would have liked to continue, the sound of the dressing bell compelled me to remind Emerson we would be expected downstairs, and that prolonged delay might lead to speculation.
    "Humbug," Emerson replied lazily. "Walter and Evelyn never speculate, they are too well bred, and if they did, they could only approve. We are lawfully wedded, Peabody; in case that fact has slipped your mind, let me refresh your memory. Thus. And thus ..."
    "Oh, Emerson. Now, Emerson . . . Oh, my dear Emerson!"
    Unfortunately at that moment we heard a scratching at the door, and with a vehement comment Emerson bolted for the dressing room. Fortunately it was Rose, not one of the servants who were unfamiliar with our habits; she had learned, through painful experience (painful particularly to poor Emerson), never to enter a room without making her presence known.
    "The dressing bell has rung, ma'am," she murmured, through a tactfully narrow crack in the door.
    "I heard it. Come back in ten minutes, Rose."
    The door closed. Emerson emerged from the dressing room. He had assumed his trousers, but not his shirt, and the sight of his tanned and muscular body aroused the most remarkable of sensations and made me yearn to be home again in Kent, where cook was quite accustomed to putting dinner back an extra half hour on short notice.
    However, the interruption had made him remember his grievances, and he was not slow to mention them.
    "How dare you leave this house without telling anyone?" he demanded. "How dare you wander the streets of this city alone, unprotected—"
    "I had an errand," I replied calmly. "Your evening shirt is there, Emerson, on the chair."
    "I hate dressing for dinner," Emerson grumbled. "Why must I? Walter and Evelyn—"
    "It is the custom. Never mind, my dear, we will soon be home and then you can be as uncouth as you like."
    "It can't be too soon for me," Emerson assured me. "We haven't been in town a day and already you are being followed by lunaticsdressed up in their nightshirts. How the devil did he find us? Did you send him a telegram?"
    "I presume you are joking, Emerson. The newspapers have reported our activities in considerable detail. Besides, our names were on the passenger list; anyone who wanted to know the time of our arrival could have found out at the offices of the steamship company."
    "That would explain the young lady," Emerson admitted. "What an extraordinary thing, Peabody."
    "That a woman should be a journalist? Unusual, certainly; commendable, undoubtedly. Much as I dislike the profession, it warms my heart to see my sisters venture—"
    "You don't take my meaning. What was so extraordinary was the resemblance."
    "To whom, Emerson?"
    "To you, Peabody. Didn't you observe it?"
    "Nonsense," I replied, taking the pins from my hair. "There was not the slightest resemblance."
    "Are you sure you haven't a sister?"
    "Quite sure. Don't be absurd, Emerson."
    Rose's reappearance