LOVE COMES LATE IN LIFE TO MONTAGU FALCONER ASSOCIATE OF BRITISH ACADEMY AND JEAN LESLIE FAMOUS WOMAN MINIATURIST _We cull the following from the London "Times":_ _Falconer-Leslie. At St. Peter's, Eaton Square, on the 4th inst., Montagu Falconer, A.R.A., to Jean Leslie, only daughter of the late General Sir Ian Leslie, V.C., of Inverdurie, Invernesshire._ A quarter of a column followed, expatiating upon the fact that the wedding took place very quietly at ten o'clock in the morning, and that reporters had met with a discouraging reception from the bridegroom. Then came a list of Montagu's best-known pictures. But Philip did not read it. He threw the paper down on deck, and started to his feet. The Bosphorus had come to a standstill at the opening of her berth, waiting for the tugs to turn her in. Protruding from the next opening was the forepart of a monster liner, from whose four funnels smoke was spouting. Philip enquired of a passing quartermaster:-- "What ship is that, please?" "The Caspian, sir. Our record-breaker!" said the man, with proper pride. "She sails for Liverpool at noon." Half an hour later Philip found himself and his belongings dumped upon the Continent of America. A minion of the rapacious but efficient ring of buccaneers which controls the entire transport system of the United States confronted him. "Where shall I express your baggage?" he enquired. "You can put it on board the Caspian," replied Philip. "Gee!" remarked the expressman admiringly. "Some hustler, ain't you?" "I am," said Philip--"this trip! Get busy!" CHAPTER XXIX THE FIRST EPISTLE OF THEOPHILUS "PRETTY hot stuff this port of yours, old son--what?" "Take some more," grunted Philip. "Thank you. That _was_ the situation I was endeavouring to lead up to," said Timothy, and helped himself. "It's a blessing to see your honest but homely features once again," he continued, lifting his glass, "especially when you signalise your return by replenishing the wine-cellar. Chin-chin, old thing!" Philip, sitting on one chair with his feet on another and smoking a briar pipe, grunted again. Timothy rose, and lit a cigarette with a live coal from the fire. (Matches were never a conspicuous feature of a bachelor establishment, however well regulated.) As he did so, his eye was caught by a pair of tall and hideous vases,--of the kind which is usually given away at coöperative stores to customers who have been rash enough to accumulate a certain number of coupons,--standing one at each end of the mantelpiece. "Oh, my dear old Theophilus," moaned the æsthetic Timothy, "do you mean to say you have resurrected the Bulgarian Atrocities?"