of that sort? It seems to me I've read they were—in books."
"Humph," snorted Mr. Thacker. "Is your knowledge of the ways of women confined to books?"
A close observer might have noted the ghost of a smile in Mr. Minot's clear blue eyes.
"In part, it is," he admitted. "And then again—in part, it isn't"
"Well, put away your books, my boy," said Mr. Thacker. "A nice, instructive little vacation has fallen on you from heaven. Mad old Jephson here must be saved from himself. That wedding must take place—positively, rain or shine. I trust you to see that it does, Richard."
Mr. Minot rose and stepped over to his hat and coat.
"I'm off far San Marco," he announced blithely. His lips were firm but smiling. "The land of sunshine and flowers—and orange blossoms or I know the reason why."
"Jephson trusts Harrowby," said Mr. Thacker. "All very well. But just the same if I were you