She handed me a letter. "Please read that," she said.

"I will not read it," I replied. "I must beg that you leave me."

"There, there, child, I did not mean to be rude."

"You are more than rude, you are insolent."

"I am distracted, child. Please read the letter."

"Very well," I said, "I'll read it."

This was the letter:

"MY DEAR MOTHER: This will be handed to you at four o'clock. At
that hour I shall be in Ventura, accompanied by the Grand Duke
Alexander, and, as we are making the trip by automobile, it may be
that we shall neither of us return in time for your dinner this
evening."

"If, however, on reading this you will wire me at Ventura your full
consent to my marriage with Miss Middleton, I think I can guarantee
that your dinner party will be a success."

"I shall be in Ventura till half past four. Should I fail to hear
from you by that time, we shall continue our journey toward Los
Angeles as fast as our six-cylinders will take us."

"It grieves me more than I can tell you to employ this cavalier
method against you, but my softer appeals have been in vain."