"Arthur!—you know to-morrow is the last day for catching the New York mail."
"Well, hang it, if I don't catch it, they must wait, that's all!" said
Meadows peevishly. "If they won't take it, somebody else will."
"They" represented the editor and publisher of a famous New York magazine, who had agreed by cable to give a large sum for the "Dizzy" lecture, provided it reached them by a certain date.
Doris twisted her lip.
"Arthur, do think of the bills!"
"Darling, don't be a nuisance! If I succeed I shall make money. And if this isn't a success I don't know what is." He pointed to the letters on his lap, an impatient gesture which dislodged a certain number of them, so that they came rustling to the floor.
"Hullo!—here's one you haven't opened. Another coronet! Gracious! I believe it's the woman who asked us to dinner a fortnight ago, and we couldn't go."
Meadows sat up with a jerk, all languor dispelled, and held out his hand for the letter.
"Lady Dunstable! By George! I thought she'd ask us,—though you don't deserve it, Doris, for you didn't take any trouble at all about her first invitation—"
"We were engaged!" cried Doris, interrupting him, her eyebrows mounting.