was at the back of it.

"When do you two expect to be married?" he asked bluntly, taking them
both by surprise. They turned quite red and looked at each other in
evident dismay.

"Why, we--er--really, Mr. Bingle," began Flanders, "we thought we'd
wait until we see how the piece gets over and then--" He looked to the
embarrassed Miss Fairweather for help.

"If everything goes well, Mr. Bingle," she said, nervously, "we
sha'n't hesitate an instant. Of course, if it is a failure, we'll--
well, it really would be wise to wait for a little while until--"

"That's just the thing I want to get at," said Mr. Bingle. "Don't put
it off, my friends. Get married here, Miss Fairweather, to-morrow,
next day. I am your friend, and yours, Dick. My wedding present shall
be--well, I must ask you to leave it to me. I love you both. You have
meant a great deal to me. There is nothing I would not do for you,
nothing I would not shield you from if it lay in my power to do so.
So, I ask you, my friends, to be married here in my house before--"
Emotion choked him. He had been standing near the window at the
beginning of his disjointed remarks. As they progressed, he approached
them with his hands extended.

The young couple grasped his hands and Flanders spoke.

"We can't do it, Mr. Bingle. It is out of the question. I'm sorry--
terribly sorry. You are a corker, sir. I--"