Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-09-28

ira lights had been installed, and between
the scintillating bulbs a score of pretty
maidens' faces looked down from the walls,
with chances indicative of some particular
mood in which the artist had chosen to
fancy his fair subject.
Christie was in eXuberant spirits; yet
suggestion of tenderness crept into his voice,
as he acknowledged his friends congratula-
tions, which limited at the flood of happiness
filling his soul. In response to a deluge of
questions hurled at him concerning his
future bride, he returned singularly evasive
answers. In more than one instance so
skilfully did he parry an inquiry that de- |
manded direct reply, that a suspicion as
to the genuineness of the hosts alleged en-
gagement began to dawn in the mind of at
least one of the guests.
II tell you there is something queer about
this whole affair, Latham confided to Hut
ton in an undertone.
"Nonsense!' smiled Hutton. @You may
be sure Christie will explain everything
when the time comes" but deep down in his
heart there still futtered nameless dread
that Latham might be right, and all through
dinner the thought haunted him.
VIHEN the last course had been removed,
and the glasses filled, Dacre rose and
in felicitous speech proposed the health and
happiness of the bride-elect, and amid
chorus of good wishes that kind Fortune and
prosperity might increasingly attend the
future of Mr. and Mrs Christie, the toast
was drunk.
any good friends, thank you sincerely
responded Christie when he had drained his
glass. u am not going to incite your Smiles"
he continued with nervous laugh, "by say
ing that this is one of the happiest moments
of my life; but Fellows, it is, all the same.
And, instead of indulging in lot of plati-
tudes, and losing myself in a tangle of senti-
mental rubbish, I'm going to tell you
story,-I believe a story is always allow
able when good fellows meet together,-and
that the characters in this story are taken
from life may not detract from its interest.
"The story opens with hero-your hum
BILE servant receiving about three months
ago a most charming little letter bearing the
signature of Marion J. Goldman. Miss Cod
man begged to offer as an excuse for writing
to me the striking similarity in our names.
Among other gracious things she expressed
her admiration for my work, suggested the
possibility of an existing kinship between
us, and in conclusion, with subtle delicacy,
asked me for my autograph; and l, in a
spirit of true gallantry, granted her request.
From this rather unconventional beginning
there might nave sprung very pretty little
romance-but there didn't; though have
carefully preserved some ten or a dozen
most seductive letters from this fascinating
young woman. I will venture to say that
probably a clever young litterateur of my
acquaintance still retains in his possession
an equal number of ardent epistles from me.
I will no longer speak in fables; but come
down to material facts.
"On the receipt of the fair Marion's sec
ond, or perhaps third, clever decoy began
to suspect that was being made the victim
of practical joke. A few words that un-
Willingly overheard at the club strengthened
my suspicious The exercise of little mild
duplicity convinced me that my alleged cor
respondent was virtually myth. I he rest
was easy. In my desire to get even with
my would be tornentor, pretended to play
into his hand, and continued my correspon-
dence with the mythical lady until recently,
when an affair of far more serious import alb
sorbed my undivided attention. For the
prompt book, properties, and other acces-
SORES used in launching this original COM
edy refer you-without permission-to my
resourceful friend Ellis Latham"
THE tumult of laughter and applause that
followed was punctuated by cries of
"SDeech Latham! SDeechl"