There is no need to continue. You are acquainted with the rest from the stencils of the newspapers. And then Guy Thomas rejoined us. “Guy!” Mrs. Breese exclaimed significantly. “I have just announced our engagement!” I would have sworn that the young man so chosen had no inkling of his good fortune. Certainly, I could see he was dumbfounded. His mouth opened and he smirked idiotically. Then he leaned over and kissed her. I found I could not even murmur congratulations. I felt sure, and do to this day, that Mrs. Breese wasn’t thinking of marriage or love or anything else at the moment. She was already glorying in the sensation that would be caused in New York. Newsprint can take hold of human beings with the malevolent claws of a narcotic. For she said: “Now I want you to quote Guy, too. What would you like to say, dear?” “Eh?” said Guy conclusively. But Mrs. Breese characteristically did not even wait for any profundities from him. She said: “I think all you need from Guy is simply that he, too, believes in the terms of our union, that we were thrown together by our common suffering. Please don’t forget that. And----” “I’d like to say,” said Guy, suddenly, “that I’m not leaving the stage.” This thunderbolt made little impression upon either Mrs. Breese or myself. “Of course not, dear,” she soothed. “He’s not leaving the stage. I would certainly not let anything interfere with my husband’s career.” Thomas nodded sagely. Slowly the full significance of the news began to envelop him and I could see him swell like a toy balloon. Probably he had entertained the thought of marrying a very wealthy woman. But he was not one to take the initiative. His berth as companion was too comfortable to risk ambition. Now that his fondest day dream was reality a foolish grin spread over his classical features and stayed there. “I think he’s so handsome!” Mrs. Breese confided to me while Thomas’ grin widened. Whatever else my employer had to say was cut short by the sudden reappearance of Rice. His face was very red, and his eyes blazed angrily. He strode up to Mrs. Breese and muttered: “I’d like to see you alone, if you don’t mind.” Mrs. Breese stared coolly at him. “Anything you have to say to me, Gordon, can be said in front of Guy,” she said. “Well then, I’ll say it. What’s this nonsense about a marriage? I’ve just been talking to Henry. Are you mad?” Mrs. Breese drew back proudly. “I wish you wouldn’t take that tone. If you want an answer to your question, I’m not mad.” “You’ll have to prove it to me,” Rice snapped. “You realize you’re fifty-one years old. This--this fellow”--such utter contempt I had rarely heard---“is young enough to be your son. He’s marrying you for your money. That’s as plain as day. You go through with this, and you’ll be the laughing-stock of everybody. You won’t have a friend in the world.”