But, if he had been thinking hard, so had Curtis, and the latter had outlined a plan of action which was fated to disrupt Steingall's, much as a harmless looking percussion cap may interfere with the smug torpor of a powder magazine.
"Yes," said Curtis, with the judicial nod of a man who states a comparatively obvious fact.
"Have you that license ?" "No." "Where is it ?" "Reposing in the writing-desk of the Rev.Thomas J.Hughes, a minister of the Protestant Episcopal Church, who lives in 56th Street, near Seventh Avenue." "And what is it doing there, pray ?" "I used it.

I have married Lady Hermione Grandison." Steingall permitted himself the rare luxury of a semi-hysterical break in his voice.
"What!" he cried.

"Is she the daughter of the Earl of Valletort ?" "Precisely, though you astonish me by the ease with which you connect two such widely different names.

Such knowledge usually implies a close acquaintance with the amiable foibles of the British aristocracy." Certainly it was well that Mrs.Horace P.Curtis had partaken of a tonic in the shape of a highball.
"Well!" she gasped.
For once she was practically speechless, but she gave the astounded Devar a pitiless glance which said plainly: "Wait till I get my breath, young man, and I'll take some of the cocksureness out of you!" Steingall soon gathered his scattered wits.
"Are you really speaking seriously, Mr.Curtis ?" he asked.
"Quite seriously." "Was this marriage an arranged affair ?" "Oh, yes.

The marriage itself was prearranged." "Candidly, I don't understand you." "No?
I am not surprised.