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"Isn't she nice?" she asked admiringly. "She's so cock-sure of herself and so calm about it. I like the way her eyebrows meet over her haughty nose, and that superior kink in her nice, crinkly lips. I know she's going to be worth while when we know her." By this time I was in such a solution of grief that I would soon have had to be sopped up with a sponge if Pet hadn't run in all bubbling over. Happiness has a habit of not even acknowledging the presence of grief, and Pet didn't seem to see our red noses, crushed draperies and generally damp atmosphere. But she was too late, for, before she could escape from the room, Dr. Etwald--as smiling and composed as ever--entered the door. He placed himself quietly before the enraged Mrs. Dallas..

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"We must alarm the house," cried Sarby, in a horrified tone, and thereupon walked swiftly toward the door. But before he could reach it the major, having recovered his presence of mind, seized him by the arm. "I'm a horrid pig to forget," she whispered contritely. "Don't be cross, Frad dear; you know how sorry I am." "Whose death? Isabella's or Mrs. Dallas'?" "Maurice wanted to marry her.".