"No, I don't."

"But you wanted to hear me say it?"

"I wanted to know if you could say it," she answered, gayly.

"And how have I succeeded?"

"Admirably!"

"Sufficiently well to pass muster?"

"Muster--for what?" she asked, with a sly smile.

"For enrollment among your victims."

"Shall I put your name on the list--at the foot?" she laughed.

"Why at the foot?"

"The last comer--you have to work your way up by merit, you know."

"Which consists in?"

"That you will have to discover."

"I shall try," he said. "Is it so very difficult of discovery?"

"No, it should not be so difficult--for you," she answered, with a flash of her violet eyes. "Mother!" as they reached the piazza--"let me present Mr. Croyden."

Mrs. Carrington arose to greet him--a tall, slender woman, whose age was sixty, at least, but who appeared not a day over forty-five, despite the dark gown and little lace cap she was wearing. She seemed what the girl had called her--the mother, rather than the grandmother. And when she smiled!

"Miss Carrington two generations hence. Lord! how do they do it?" thought Croyden.

"You play Bridge, of course, Mr. Croyden," said Miss Carrington, when the dessert was being served.

"I like it very much," he answered.

 Prev. P 32/216 next