Charles Neville Buck

The allegation that Love laughs at locksmiths has become more generally accepted than verity warrants. In point of fact the locksmith has never been altogether without the honors of war, and during the last century or two he has made commendable progress in the matter of bolts and tumblers and burglar-proof devices.

Love was supervising the packing of Mary Asheton’s steamer-trunks and was particularly interested in the single suit-case surreptiously intended for the Jaffa Junction trousseau. Love giggled as he looked on, but the giggle was rather hysterical. “He likes that black gown,” said Mary, alone in her room with Love. “I wore it the evening he proposed the last time—no, it was the third from the last time.”