“Mrs. Deering?” “No; the peach--the--Miss Keogh?” “She is of the Waterford Keoghs, famous for their eyes and their complexions. But business first. You are not to fall in love with Miss Keogh until after my two hundred and fifty thousand pounds are safe in bank. I'd go myself, but I have a still bigger deal on here in New York. I've taken the liberty to engage a stateroom on the _Ruritania_, sailing tomorrow, and a letter of credit has been ordered for five thousand dollars. Have I taken too much for granted?” “No; but you know perfectly well that I don't know a thing about business, and I'd be afraid--” “My solicitors in London will call on you when they are ready for you. I shall give you a memorandum for your own conduct; you will find there instructions in detail--just as though you were a ten year-old boy; but that is really for your own protection, and I don't mean to imply that your mind is ten years old--” “No feelings hurt,” said Frank, who in reality was much relieved to learn that the chances of his making a mistake had been intelligently minimized. “I'm glad you take it that way. Now we'll go down-town to Towne, Ripley & Co. and give them your signature for the letter of credit; from there we'll go to the British Consulate and have my own signature on my power of attorney certified to by the consul, and then you can skip up-town and say good-by to your friends.” Frank left Jerningham at the consulate and went home to pack up and arrange for his more pressing adieus. Jerningham went into a public telephone-booth and called up the offices of _Society Folk_. When they answered he asked to speak with the editor. “Well?” presently came in a sharp voice. “This is Mr.--er--a friend.” “Anonymous! All right. What do you want?” “To give you a piece of news.” “We verify everything and take your word for absolutely nothing. I tell you this to save your telling me a lie.” “That's all right. You'll find it true enough. I--” “One minute. Where is that pencil? All right! Now the name of the woman?” “How do you know I want to--” “All you fellows always do. What's her name?” “Mrs. Ashton Welles.” “The wife of the president of the VanTwiller--” “Correct!” said Jerningham. “Now the name of the man?” “Francis Wolfe,” answered Jerningham, unhesitatingly. “The chorus-girls' pet?” asked the voice. “The same!” “Has it happened yet? Or do you merely fear it? Or is it a case of hoping?” “I don't know what you are driving at.” “Then you don't read _Society Folk_” “Well, I don't--regularly. All I know is that Frank has been very assiduous in his attentions lately. He's shaken the Great White Way and hasn't been in a lobster-palace in two months. He and Mrs. Ashton Welles are sailing on the _Ruritania_ tomorrow.” “Under what name?” “Their own.” “Thank you, kind friend. Thank you!” “Why do you say that?” “Because we can now use names. Does Mr. Welles also go?” “Of course not!”