Poor Nocastle! His Grace seems to have a problem to solve that is beyond his intellectuality. Here stands Ethel Bumpschus, with spectacles and ten millions; there Pearl Veal, beautiful, with but four. Which will he choose? And surely he has only to choose, for he is a peer of England. He is only five feet four, partially bald, pale, fuzzy mustache upside down, but then, besides, he is Charles John Peter Michael Henry Edwin Reginald Clarence Angus Joseph Fitznit, Duke of Nocastle, Marquis of Bumpshire, Earl of Duckham, Baron Llfygntynllan, Baron McGonigle in Ireland, etc. He has been here nearly two weeks now, turning the Bumpschus house upside down, and yet his engagement to its heiress has not been announced. _Town Twaddle_ cruelly reported that there had been a hitch over the settlements, that his solicitor had been cabled for, and that pending the arrival of Sir Charles Wigge no announcements would be made. But I know better. The hitch came that afternoon at the Bumpschuses when the noble eyes lighted on Pearl Veal, as she stood beside Mrs. Radigan, smiling. Since then his Grace has haunted the Radigan house, and when he is not loafing in the shadow of its mistress, he is sitting on a bench in the Park Mall, seeking an inspiration in the bust of Robert Burns. Time is flying. He will have to decide soon, for he has bought a brace of bull pups and the fancier is standing all day in the Bumpschus hall, respectfully waiting for his money. My position is a hard one. Were Pearl the only one to be coped with, there would be no doubt of the future, but with a social Oyama like Mrs. Radigan opposing you, there can be little hope. Mrs. Radigan is very frank. She got me in a corner the other day and proceeded to explain to me why the engagement should be broken at once. Pearl's happiness for life was at stake, she said, and surely I would sacrifice myself for her. But is it happiness? said I. She told me that I was a child. Pearl would be a duchess, the mistress of four castles; she would take precedence over Clarissa Bumpschus, who had married the Duke of Nothingham, and over Evangeline Very, who was to wed the Earl of Less; she could snub Ethel Bumpschus, who had always been a snob, anyway; and the Japanese war would be forgotten while the wedding was under way. Was this not happiness for any girl? As for me, she promised me that I should be best man, and surely it would give me more distinction to be best man for a duke than to be the groom myself.