shame by their ardor Abelard and Heloise are frankly published--at
ten cents a word--for all the town to smile at. The gentleman in
the brown derby states with fervor that the blonde governess who
got off the tram at Shepherd's Bush has quite won his heart. Will
she permit his addresses? Answer; this department. For three
weeks West had found this sort of thing delicious reading. Best of
all, he could detect in these messages nothing that was not open
and innocent. At their worst they were merely an effort to
side-step old Lady Convention; this inclination was so rare in
the British, he felt it should be encouraged. Besides, he was
inordinately fond of mystery and romance, and these engaging twins
hovered always about that column.


So, while waiting for his strawberries, he smiled over the
ungrammatical outburst of the young lady who had come to doubt the
genuineness of him who called her Dearest. He passed on to the
second item of the morning. Spoke one whose heart had been
completely conquered:

MY LADY sleeps. She of raven tresses. Corner seat from Victoria,
Wednesday night. Carried program. Gentleman answering inquiry
desires acquaintance. Reply here. --LE ROI.

West made a mental note to watch for the reply of raven tresses.
The next message proved to be one of Aye's lyrics--now almost a
daily feature of the column:

DEAREST: Tender loving wishes to my dear one. Only to be with you
now and always. None "fairer in my eyes." Your name is music to