"'An ideal, yes; but not impossible, since she exists in the flesh and I have found her.' "'Well, you're a lucky dog,' I said. 'Tell me about her.' "So he told me--quite a Laura Jean Libbey story. She was everything, it seemed, that could be desired in a woman. "'And beautiful?' I asked him. "For reply, he brought out a photograph from his desk. I tell you, Lester, it fairly took my breath away. I felt as though I were looking at a masterpiece--say Andrea del Sarto's Madonna. And I would as soon have thought of marrying the one as the other. It was like snatching a star down out of heaven. "Curtiss was leaning back in his chair watching me, and he smiled as I looked up. "'Well?' he asked. "I went over and shook hands with him--I couldn't find words to tell him what I felt. "'But where has she been?' I demanded. 'How does it happen she was left for you?' "'She's been abroad for five or six years,' he explained. "'That's no answer,' I said. 'Why isn't she a queen, then; or a duchess, at least?' "'She's had chances enough, I dare say,' and he smiled at my enthusiasm. 'I agree with you that she's worthy to wear a crown; but then, you see, she has ideals, too. Perhaps none of the kings she met measured up to them.' "'And you did?' "'She's good enough to think so.' "I had been idling over the photograph, and my eyes happened to fall upon some lines written across the back--I didn't know them, then, but I've looked them up, since:-- 'My days were sunless and my nights were moonless, Parched the pleasant April herbage and the lark's heart's outbreak tuneless, If you loved me not!' "I tell you, Lester," and there was a little break in our junior's voice, "I was overwhelmed. You know, love--passion--the real thing the poets write about--has grown mighty rare in this world. We're too commercial for it, I suppose; too much given to calculating chances. But here I was, face to face with it. Well, I was unequal to the situation--I didn't know what to say, but he helped me. "'The date hasn't been set, yet,' he said, 'but it will be some time in June; and the reason I'm telling you all this is that I'm going to ask a favour of you. It's to be a church wedding and I want you to be best man. I hope you won't refuse.' "I was glad of the chance to be of service and told him so," concluded Mr. Royce, glancing again at his watch and rising hastily. "The wedding's to be at noon to-day. You see I'm cutting it rather fine. I'd intended to go down yesterday afternoon, but that Barnaby petition upset my plans. I'll be back to-night or in the morning at the latest. In the meantime, if anything imperative turns up, a telegram to the Sheridan House at Elizabeth will catch me." "Very well," I replied and made a note of the address. "But don't worry about the work here. I'll get along all right." "Of course you will," he agreed, and an instant later, the door closed behind him.