"Ain' nobody in de cyar, 'scusin yo'se'f, suh," grinned the porter, retiring.
I heard him, but did not comprehend, sitting there sleepily unfolding the scrawled telegram. Suddenly my eyes flew wide open; I scanned the despatch with stunned incredulity:
"Atlanta, Georgia.
"We couldn't help it. Love at first sight. Married this morning in Atlanta. Wildly happy. Forgive. Wire blessing.
"(Signed) Harold Kensett,
"Helen Barrison Kensett."
"Porter!" I shouted. "Porter! Help!"
There was no response.
"Oh, Lord!" I groaned, and rolled over, burying my head in the blankets; for I understood at last that Science, the most jealous, most exacting of mistresses, could never brook a rival.