“Dear Miss Testram,

“I will call on you on Thursday morning, if you have no objection, to discuss the matter of Mr. Sykes.

“Yours sincerely,

“Hugh Ruthven.”

Before Ruthven left his flat on Thursday, he gave a few parting instructions to his servant, concerning lunch, and the preparation of a certain room. The servant was, as he put it, completely flabbergasted at the extraordinary announcement Mr. Ruthven had made, two days before. He had talked it over with his wife, Ruthven’s cook, and they agreed that it was incomprehensible.

When Katharine opened her door to Ruthven that morning, it was quite obvious that she had been crying. Ruthven perceived it at a glance. However, he did not remark on it.

“Put your things on,” he commanded, “and bring Sykes.”

“But—”

“I am not going to argue about it, Katharine. Put your hat on.”

Katharine blushed, for her had never addressed her by her Christian name until now.

“I don’t understand—”

“I can’t and won’t talk to you here,” interrupted Ruthven. “I’ll explain in the car. Go and do as I tell you.”

Katharine went with surprising meekness. Not until they were driving along the street did she venture another question. Sykes, panting blissfully, was wedged in between them, trying to lick both their faces alternately.

“Where—where are you taking me?” Katharine said.

“I’ve thought it all out carefully,” said Ruthven, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that we’d better get married. So I bought a ring and a special licence, and I ordered a wedding brunch at home, and—”

“But it’s impossible!” cried Katharine, as soon as she had recovered from her first surprise. “You don’t love me—I hardly know you! I don’t like men! You don’t like wom—”

“I can’t help that. We owe it to Sykes.”

Katharine started to laugh hysterically.

“Oh, please take me back! You’re—you’re quite mad! I can’t possibly marry you! It’s too rid—ridiculous! I—” Ruthven turned down a side-street.

“Katharine, do you, or do you not love me?”

“No, of c–course I d–don’t!”

“Well, I do love you,” Ruthven told her. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t live without you. And I’m not going to. So don’t start arguing again.”

Katharine fumbled for her handkerchief, sniffed, and started to cry, quite quietly. Mr. Sykes sought frantically to comfort her. Mr. Ruthven slowed down and took Katharine’s hand in his.

“Don’t cry, Katharine! Poor little girl, you’ve had the devil of a time, but don’t cry! I’m going to change all that, and you shan’t ever be unhappy again, Katharine. If you don’t stop, I shall have to kiss you, and there’s someone looking!”

Katharine gulped, and clung to Ruthven’s sustaining hand. Ruthven kissed her fingers.

“Will you marry me, Katharine? Sykes clearly wishes it.”

Katharine nodded, mopping her eyes.

“Yes, please, Hugh,” she sighed. “The—the man isn’t looking now.”

Mr. Sykes sniffed, and his grin spread from ear to ear.

MR. SYKES gave the bride away. He was the first to embrace her after the ceremony in the dingy registry office, and he snorted so loudly that there could be no mistaking his delight.