“All the difference possible, in this particular world, my queen. Now don’t you see my little scheme? When you succeed in this divorce business I mean to resume my physical body, feed it up, cut its hair, and get it some good clothes, and then--why, then,--I intend to bring it back here in the regular way,--and then--we’ll be regularly married.” It was now the lady who laughed. “Well, if you ain’t too cute for anything.” They had previously consulted a Chicago lawyer who assured them, statutes to the contrary, he not only would work the decree, but would secure alimony in addition. He said he would base the suit upon cruelty and desertion and abandonment without “visible or tangible cause.” This delighted the Gnani, for though himself self-supporting, the lady would require physical sustenance for some time. “And you’ll hurry back, Lonnie Llama?” pleaded Imogene. “But twenty-four hours at most, Sweet Thing, only tonight and tomorrow, and tomorrow I’ll telep every sixteen minutes from sunrise to sunset.” “Well, if you must--you must,”--sighed Imogene. “I wish you didn’t have to stay but a couple of minutes.” “Well, it’s good-bye sweetest,--until--until--” and the mystic sighed dismally; “until sunset tomorrow.” “No, no, I can’t have it so. Linger--longer--Lonnie Llama. I’m all broke up,” and Imogene wept. “I say, what’s the rush?” The lovers, startled, sprang to the extreme ends of the divan. It was the unhappy Bill Vanderhook who stood before them. Unhappy? No. Surely this was not the face of an unhappy man, nor of a vengeful one. He did not even appear to be out of humor. His face was illumined with a benevolent smile. His hat was shoved well back on his head and his hands were in his pockets, after the manner of extreme joviality. He had entered unobserved and now stood surveying them with the most genial and conciliatory smile. “What’s this about leaving us?” he demanded of his old chum in the old friendly tone. Unprepared for such treatment, the seer sheepishly explained the unpleasant predicament of his physical envelope in the caves of Gingalee. “Well, do you mean to stay there then?”--anxiously, almost hopefully, from Bill. “I should say not. I’ll be back by tea time tomorrow sure. You know, Mrs. Vanderhook expects me to look after the decorations of her April-Fool tea party. That’s tomorrow, you know, so--” Bill’s brows contracted wickedly for an instant. Then he laughed. “Then why in Sam Hill are you going at all?” demanded Bill; which entailed another recital of the danger.