“It’s very good of you,” said the girl at last, speaking a trifle vaguely. “Your courteous proposal seems to cover every possible point—except one. The one is Lewis Copewell. Really, you know, I didn’t just come here to get married at random!” She started the machine forward again. “I assure you there’s nothing random about me!” argued the Honorable Alexander with dignity. She shook her head. “In matrimonial matters,” she told him, “one can’t eliminate the element of personal preference. I still prefer Lewis.” Mr. Burrows sighed. Even deities, it seemed, had undiscriminating tastes. “This is the hotel,” he said wearily. The girl looked at the uninviting facade of the building indicated. It suggested the kennel of a dog in very modest circumstances. “This—a hotel!” she exclaimed. “Yes,” said the man. “It isn’t a very good hotel. The County Judge lives on the next square. He can perform the marriage ceremony, you know, and his house is much nicer. Shall we go on?” “We will get out here,” said Miss Asheton firmly. Though it was midnight, it chanced that the hotel office was not completely deserted. Through the open door struggled the yellow glimmer of a coal-oil lamp, and its reek hung offensively on the sultriness. Two drummers, with loosened neck-bands and hanging suspenders, were beguiling the heavy hours with a deck of greasy cards. Dozing in dishabille, sat mine host, his chair propped on two legs against the wall and his snore proclaiming him in the shadow. The arrival of a beautiful woman and a man in motor-togs brought the drummers to their feet with an exclamation which aroused the innkeeper. That worthy rubbed his eyes and began in a wheezing voice: “I’m afraid it’s goin’ ter be kinder onhandy to take keer of you folks. The house is mighty nigh full up.” Before Mr. Burrow could reply, one of the drummers rose chivalrously to the occasion. “The gent and his wife can take my room, if Mr. Sellers, here, don’t mind my doubling up with him.” The drummer had been marooned an entire day in Jaffa Junction. For a glimpse of that face at the breakfast table he would gladly have slept on the roof. Mr. Burrow cleared his throat, but before he could find words, Mr. Sellers graciously declared that he would be much pleased to oblige. Then, while Miss Asheton stood painfully impersonating the aurora borealis, the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow astounded her with these composed words: “I am sure you gentlemen are both very kind, but if you will pardon me a moment I will consult with—er—with my wife.” Since the space of the hotel office was limited in scope to something like ten by twenty feet, partly preëmpted by a cigar-counter, the two drummers exchanged glances and rose, with innate delicacy, disappearing into the street. Mine host, prompted by the same latent courtesy, disappeared up the stairs.