"When women talk mechanics and religion in the same breath," laughed the Bridegroom, "it certainly----" "I was talking neither mechanics nor religion," affirmed the Bride, with the faintest possible tinge of asperity. "Oh, of course, anyone can see," admitted the Bridegroom, "that Kennilworth is a clever chap." "Clever as the deuce!" acquiesced George Keets. With an impatient tap of her foot the May Girl turned suddenly back from the window. "Yes! But where _is_ he?" she laughed. "That's what I say!" cried my Husband. "We've waited quite long enough for him!" "Dallying up-stairs probably to put a dab of black court-plaster on _his_ cheek!" observed George Keets drily. With one accord everybody but the May Girl rushed impulsively to the breakfast table. "Seems as though--somebody ought to wait," dimpled the May Girl. "Oh, nonsense!" asserted everybody. A little bit reluctantly she came at last to her place. Her face was faintly troubled. "On--on an engagement morning," she persisted, "it certainly seems as though--somebody ought to wait." In the hallway just outside a light step sounded suddenly. It was really astonishing with what an air of real excitement and expectancy everybody glanced up. But the step in the hall proved only the step of a maid. "The young gentleman upstairs sent a message," said the maid. "Most particular he was that I give it exact. 'It being so rainy again,' he says, 'and there not being anything specially interesting on the--the docket as far as he knows, he'll stay in bed--thank you.'" For an instant it seemed as though everybody at the table except Allan John jerked back from his plate with a knife, fork or spoon, brandished half-way in mid air. There was no jerk left in Allan John, I imagine. It was Allan John's color that changed. A dull flush of red where once just gray shadows had lain. "So he'll stay in bed, thank you," repeated the maid sing-songishly. "What?" gasped my Husband. "W-w-what?" stammered the May Girl. "Well--of all the--nerve!" muttered Paul Brenswick. "Why--why how extraordinary," murmured Ann Woltor. "_There's_ your 'artistic temperament' for you, all right!" laughed the Bride a bit hectically. "Peeved is it because he thought Miss Davies----?" "Don't you think you're just a bit behind the times in your interpretation of the phrase 'artistic temperament'?" interrupted George Keets abruptly. "Except in special neurasthenic cases it is no longer the fashion I believe to lay bad manners to the artistic temperament itself but rather to the humble environment from which most artistic temperaments are supposed to have sprung." "Eh? What's that?" laughed the Bride.