Hard though it is for a father to say such a thing, she is the real brain behind this sordid story of intrigue and wrong-doing." "Dear me!" gasped Mr.Hughes again.

He felt that he must, indeed, be growing old.

He had married many hundreds of couples during his ministerial career, and had, in many instances, compared the subsequent lives of his matrimonial clients with the impressions formed during the ceremony, yet never had he been so gravely at fault as in his summing-up of the characteristics of John D.Curtis and Hermione Beauregard Grandison.
Vassilan emerged from the kitchen, dripping but less gory, and the two visitors disappeared, whereupon Mr.Hughes confided his mystification to Jenkins.
But Wil-li-am shook his cadaverous head.
"Mebbe the Earl was right, an' mebbe he was wrong," he said decisively.
"I didn't size up the Earl, so I let it go at that, but I did see the other guy--beg pardon, sir, I mean the other gentleman--an' he'll be lucky if he gets to bed to-night without being clubbed by a policeman.
Someone has been at him already--hard at him--an' I'm not surprised, for his langwidge reminded me of my best days at sea." "William!" "What, sir?
Oh, I meant my young days, of course.

Now, I wonder----" It had just occurred to Jenkins that Mr.Curtis and his bride could hardly have got clear away from 56th Street before the Earl and his companion turned up.
"Gee!" he cackled.

"I wish I hadn't closed the door so damn quick!" Mr.Hughes raised hands of horrified protest, and Jenkins wilted.
"Sorry, sir," he stammered.