in a head-line forced itself to his attention. Courtney Giles. Where had he heard that name before? He picked up the Times from the table on which it was lying. He read:
"The Ardent Lover, the new romantic comedy in which Courtney Giles has appeared briefly at the West End Road Theater, will be removed from the boards to-night. The public has not been appreciative. If truth must be told—and bitter truth it is—the once beloved matinée idol has become too fat to hold his old admirers, and they have drifted steadily to other, slimmer gods. Mr. Giles' early retirement from the stage is rumored."
Minot threw down the paper. Poor old Jephson! First the rain on the dowager duchess, then an actor's expanding waist—and to-morrow the news that Harrowby's wedding was not to be. Why, it would ruin the man!
Minot stepped to the door of the inner room.
"I'm going out to think," he announced. "I'll see you in the lobby before you leave."
Two minutes later, in the summer-house where
