The Man and the Moment. Glyn Elinor

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      Michael knelt upon a low old prie dieu which was near, and looked into her face—while he asked, whimsically:

      "I do wonder where you will begin."

      Miss Delburg now sat upon the edge of the table; this was a grave question and must be answered at leisure, though without indecision.

      "Oh, I know," she announced. "There was my great friend, Moravia Cloudwater, at the Convent. She was older than me, and went to Paris with her father and married an Italian prince last year. I have heard from her since, and she has often wanted me to go and stay with her in Rome—and I shall now. Morri and I are the dearest friends—and her things did look lovely the day she came to see us at Tours—with the prince's coronet on them—" and then the first shadow came to her contentment. "That is the only pity about you—even with a castle, you haven't a coronet, I suppose?" regretfully. "I should have liked one on my handkerchiefs and note-paper."

      Michael felt his shortcomings.

      "The title was taken away when we followed Prince Charlie and we only got back the land by the skin of our teeth after an awful business so I am afraid I cannot do that for you—but perhaps," consolingly, "you will have better luck next time."

      This brought some comfort.

      "Why, of course! we can get a divorce—as soon as we want. Moravia had an aunt, who simply went to Sioux Falls and got one at once and married someone else, so it's not the least trouble. Oh, I am glad you have thought of this plan. It is clever of you!"

      Mr. Arranstoun felt that he was becoming rather too interested in his—fiancée and time was passing. Her family might discover where she was—or Henry might return; he must clinch matters finally.

      "I think we must come to business details now," he said. "Had you not better write a letter to Mr. Parsons that I could take, stating your wishes; and will you also write down upon another piece of paper all the details of your name, age—and so forth——"

      He now showed her his writing-table and gave her paper and pens to choose from.

      She sat down gravely, and put her hands to her head as one thinking hard. Then she began rapidly to write—while Mr. Arranstoun watched her from the hearth-rug, to where he had retired.

      She evidently wrote out the statistics required first, and then began her letter. And at last she turned a rogue's face with a perplexed frown on it, while she bit her pen.

      "How do you spell indigenous, please?"

      He started forward.

      "'Indigenous'?—what a grand word!—i-n-d-i-g-e-n-o-u-s."

      "One has to be grand when writing business letters," she told him, condescendingly, and then finished her missive.

      "There—that will do! Now listen!"

      She got up and stood with the sheet in her hand, and read off the remarkable document without worrying much about stops or commas.

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