Mr. Bingle called Miss Fairweather and the good-looking Flanders into his study a few days before the time set for her departure. He closed the door carefully behind them and then crossed over to glance out of the window into the garden, where Mrs. Bingle was chatting earnestly with Dr. Fiddler in the shade of a glorious oak. Mr. Bingle had had something on his mind for a long, long time. The fate of Agnes Glenn was at the back of it. "When do you two expect to be married?" he asked bluntly, taking them both by surprise. They turned quite red and looked at each other in evident dismay. "Why, we--er--really, Mr. Bingle," began Flanders, "we thought we'd wait until we see how the piece gets over and then--" He looked to the embarrassed Miss Fairweather for help. "If everything goes well, Mr. Bingle," she said, nervously, "we sha'n't hesitate an instant. Of course, if it is a failure, we'll--well, it really would be wise to wait for a little while until--" "That's just the thing I want to get at," said Mr. Bingle. "Don't put it off, my friends. Get married here, Miss Fairweather, to-morrow, next day. I am your friend, and yours, Dick. My wedding present shall be--well, I must ask you to leave it to me. I love you both. You have meant a great deal to me. There is nothing I would not do for you, nothing I would not shield you from if it lay in my power to do so. So, I ask you, my friends, to be married here in my house before--" Emotion choked him. He had been standing near the window at the beginning of his disjointed remarks. As they progressed, he approached them with his hands extended. The young couple grasped his hands and Flanders spoke. "We can't do it, Mr. Bingle. It is out of the question. I'm sorry--terribly sorry. You are a corker, sir. I--" "For goodness' sake," began Mr. Bingle, imploringly. "We would jump at the chance, Mr. Bingle, to be married here, if it were not for one thing," went on Flanders, and then looked at Miss Fairweather. "And what in the world can that be?" cried Mr. Bingle. "We were married two months ago, Mr. Bingle," said Mrs. Richard Flanders guiltily. It was some time before they could make him believe it. She revealed her wedding ring--suspended about her neck--and then Mr. Bingle kissed her very soberly and with tears in his eyes. "Two months ago!" he said, waveringly. "And God bless my soul, you spent your honeymoon nursing a lot of sick children! Well, well, it beats all! It isn't too late for a wedding present. I'll--" Flanders interrupted him. "It is too late, sir," he said firmly. "We only ask for your blessing and your good wishes, Mr. Bingle. You have already given us too much. We shall never be out of debt to you. The play, the theatre--" "Ah, but I haven't spent a nickel on the play, you blundering booby," cried Mr. Bingle heartily. "That is still to come. I want to do something NOW." "It will come soon enough, sir," said Flanders firmly. "We can't abuse a friendship like yours."