There was a silence. “Look here,” said the secretary, “what would you do in a case like this? You know I’m engaged?” “I do. And no doubt your _fiancée_ is missing you. Why not go in search of her?” “She’s the sweetest girl on earth.” “I should lose no time.” “But jealous. And just now I was in my office, and that Mrs. Pettigrew came in to ask if there was any news of the purse which she lost a couple of days ago. It had just been brought to my office, so I produced it; whereupon the infernal woman, in a most unsuitably girlish manner, flung her arms round my neck and kissed me on my bald spot. And at that moment Adela came in. Death,” said the secretary, “where is thy sting?” The Oldest Member’s pique melted. He had a feeling heart. “Most unfortunate. What did you say?” “I hadn’t time to say anything. She shot out too quick.” The Oldest Member clicked his tongue sympathetically. “These misunderstandings between young and ardent hearts are very frequent,” he said. “I could tell you at least fifty cases of the same kind. The one which I will select is the story of Jane Packard, William Bates, and Rodney Spelvin.” “You told me that the other day. Jane Packard got engaged to Rodney Spelvin, the poet, but the madness passed and she married William Bates, who was a golfer.” “This is another story of the trio.” “You told me that one, too. After Jane Packard married William Bates she fell once more under the spell of Spelvin, but repented in time.” “This is still another story. Making three in all.” The secretary buried his face in his hands. “Oh, well,” he said, “go ahead. What does anything matter now?” “First,” said the Oldest Member, “let us make ourselves comfortable. Take this chair. It is easier than the one in which you are sitting.” “No, thanks.” “I insist.” “Oh, all right.” “Woof!” said the Oldest Member, settling himself luxuriously. With an eye now full of kindly good-will, he watched young Clifford Wimple play his fourth. Then, as the silver drops flashed up into the sun, he nodded approvingly and began. The story which I am about to relate (said the Oldest Member) begins at a time when Jane and William had been married some seven years. Jane’s handicap was eleven, William’s twelve, and their little son, Braid Vardon, had just celebrated his sixth birthday.