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He looked over the list of eligibles. He read their misspelled, crabbedly written letters. There was not one in the lot to whom a man of conscience could entrust the Moslem flower, even if she did smoke.

“There is apparently not one man of education or refinement in the whole lot,” exclaimed Mr. Middleton.

“That’s about right,” said the president of the agency. “Between you and I, there ain’t many people of refinement who would go at marrying in that way. You don’t know what a lot of jays and rubes I have to deal with. Often I threaten to retire. But occasionally a real gentleman or lady does register in our agency. Object, fun or matrimony. Now I have one client that is all right, all right except in one particular. He is a man of thirty-five or six, fine looking, has a nice house and five thousand dollars a year clear and sure. But he’s stone deaf. He wants a young and handsome girl. Now I could get him fifty dozen homely young women, or pretty ones that weren’t chickens any longer, real pretty and refined, but you see a real handsome young girl sort of figures her chances of marrying are good, that she may catch a man who can hear worth as much as this Crayburn, which ain’t a whole lot, or that if she does marry a poor young chap, he’ll have as much as Crayburn does when he is as old as Crayburn. Now I’m so sure you’ll only have your trouble for your pains, that I won’t charge you anything for his address and a letter of introduction. I don’t believe you have got a girl who will suit, for if you have, she won’t take Crayburn. Here’s his picture.”

Mr. Middleton looked upon the photograph of a man who seemed to be possessed of some of the best qualities of manhood. It was true that there was a slight suspicion of weakness in the face, but above all it was kindly and sympathetic.

“A good looking man,” said Mr. Middleton.

“Smart man, too,” said the matrimonial agent. “He graduated from the university in Evanston and was a lawyer and a good one, until a friend fired off one of those big duck guns in his ear for a joke.”

Taking the odalisque with him in a cab, Mr. Middleton was off for the residence of Mr. Crayburn.

“Will she have me?” asked Mr. Crayburn, when he had read Mr. Middleton’s hastily penciled account of the main facts of his connection with the fair Moslem, wherein for brevity’s sake he had omitted any mention of the fifteen hundred dollars the emir had given him for assuming charge of her.

“Of course,” wrote Mr. Middleton.

“I never saw a more beautiful woman,” exclaimed Mr. Crayburn. “By the way, have you noticed any predilections, habits, wants, it would be well for me to know about?”

“She smokes,” wrote Mr. Middleton, not knowing why he wrote it, and wishing like the devil that he hadn’t the moment he had.

“All Oriental women smoke. I will ask her not to as soon as she learns English.”

Mr. Middleton was amazed to think that such a simple solution had not occurred to him. But he was glad it was so, for he had not been unscathed by Cupid’s darts there last night and he might not now be about to visit the young lady of Englewood.

“Your fee,” said Mr. Crayburn.

Mr. Middleton had not thought of this. He looked about at the handsomely furnished room. He thought of the five thousand dollars a year and the very much smaller income he could offer the young lady of Englewood. He thought of these things and other things. He thought of the young lady of Englewood; of the odalisque, toward whom he occupied the position of what is known in law as next friend. She sat behind him, out of his sight, but he saw her, saw her as he saw her for the first time, when, ripping the bag away, she lay there in her piteous, appealing helplessness.