stiffly.

"Oh, come now; tell me all about it. Who is she, and when's the
wedding?"

"I don't know when the wedding's going to be, but I'm mighty sure that
I have met the one girl. Max, there never was a girl like her. Witty
she is, and wise; as beautiful as a summer's dawn; merry and brave;
rides, drives, plays the 'cello, dances like a moon-shadow; and all
that,"--with a wave of the hand.

"You've got it bad. Remember how you used to write poetry at college?
Who is she, if I may ask?"

"The Honorable Betty Moore, at present the guest of her Highness, the
Princess Hildegarde,"--with pardonable pride.

Max whistled. "You're a lucky beggar. One by one we turn traitor to
our native land. A Britisher! I never should have believed it of you,
of the man whose class declamation was on the fiery subject of
patriotism. But is it all on one side?"

"I don't know, Max; sometimes I think so, and then I don't."

"How long have you known her?"

"Little more than a month."

"A month? Everything moves swiftly these days, except European railway
cars."