“True.”

“The actress who professed to be so madly in love with one Doctor John Craig.”

“And as the said Craig is already taken, she is left out in the cold.  Now you behold my little scheme.  We are happy—­why should not these two people be the same?”

“Why, indeed?”

“Their greatest fault lies in loving not wisely but too well.  This has caused them to sin.  Now, in order to prevent any future plots that may give us trouble, I purpose to so arrange it that Sir Lionel shall have a wife and Pauline a husband.”

“A clever idea.”

“I may want your assistance.”

“You can have it at any time.”

“We must protect ourselves, and the easiest way to do this will be to disarm our foes.”

“Really, Doctor Chicago, I didn’t give you credit for so much shrewdness.  Tell me if you have any plans arranged.”

“Well, only the skeleton of one as yet, but I’ll tell you all about it as far as I have gone.”

They sit upon that bench for a full hour.  Time is not taken into account when love rules the occasion.

It is Lady Ruth who finally jumps up with a cry of consternation.  She has heard a clock upon a tower in new Algiers strike the hour.

“What will they think of us, John?” she says.

“Little I care, for I mean to announce our engagement to Aunt Gwen on sight, and she is the only one who has any business to complain,” returns the successful wooer, firmly.

“Oh! it is so sudden; perhaps we’d better wait a little while.”

“With your permission, not an hour.  You belong to me, now—­see, let me put this solitaire diamond on your finger.  It was my mother’s ring.  By that token I simply desire to warn all men ‘hands off.’  Tell me, am I right, Ruth?”

“Yes; I can offer no objection.  Do as you think best, doctor.”

This is a beautiful beginning.  Clouds will be rare in their future if they keep on in this way.

So they once more go back to the hotel, and find Aunt Gwen on the lookout, her kindly face wearing an anxious expression that becomes a quizzical one when she sees John smile.

“Your blessing, Aunt Gwen,” he says.

“My what?”

“Oh! it’s all settled.  Ruth has promised to be my wife,” continues John, looking very happy.

“The dickens she has!” and Philander pushes into view from behind the voluminous skirts of his better half.  “What business has she to accept any one without consulting her doting—­”

“Philander!”

“—­Aunt?  Don’t take me seriously, my boy.  Accept my congratulations, wish you joy, and thank Heaven it isn’t that pompous baronet.”

“Amen!” says John, warmly.

“Now that you allow me a chance, Philander, I want to say just this:  it suits me to a dot.  I’m delighted—­enchanted.  Of course you’ll live in Chicago.  That’s another blow against John Bull.  We’ll be mistress of the seas yet.  Here, let me kiss you both, my children, and take the blessing of a woman who has not lived fifty years for nothing.”