Stanton's throat gave a little gasp, then silenced again. He bit his
lips furiously as though to hold back an exclamation. Then suddenly
the whole perplexing truth burst forth from him.

"That isn't from my fiancée!" he cried out. "That's just a
professional love-letter. I buy them by the dozen,--so much a week."
Reaching back under his pillow he extricated another letter. "_This_
is from my fiancée," he said. "Read it. Yes, do."

"Aloud?" gasped the Doctor.

Stanton nodded. His forehead was wet with sweat.

"DEAR CARL,

"The weather is still very warm. I am riding horseback
almost every morning, however, and playing tennis almost
every afternoon. There seem to be an exceptionally large
number of interesting people here this winter. In regard to
the list of names you sent me for the wedding, really, Carl,
I do not see how I can possibly accommodate so many of your
friends without seriously curtailing my own list. After all
you must remember that it is the bride's day, not the
groom's. And in regard to your question as to whether we
expect to be home for Christmas and could I possibly arrange
to spend Christmas Day with you--why, Carl, you are
perfectly preposterous! Of course it is very kind of you to
invite me and all that, but how could mother and I possibly
come to your rooms when our engagement is not even
announced? And besides there is going to be a very smart