come to lunch."

"You said you would," cried Mrs. Hilary indignantly.

I poised the letter in my hand, reading again "Miss M(aud)
E(lizabeth) Bannerman." Miss Phyllis looked at me curiously,
Mrs. Hilary impatiently.

"Who knows," said I, "that I may not be a Romance--a Vanished
Dream--a Green Memory--an Oasis? A person who has the fortune to
be an Oasis, Miss Phyllis, should be very careful. I will not
come to lunch."

"Do you mean that you used to know Miss Bannerman?" asked Mrs.
Hilary in her pleasant prosaic way.

It was a sin seventeen years old; it would hardly count against
the blameless Miss Bannerman now. "You may tell her when I'm
gone," said I to Miss Phyllis.

Miss Phyllis whispered in Mrs. Hilary's ear.

"Another?" cried Mrs. Hilary, aghast.

"It was the very first," said I, defending myself.

Mrs. Hilary began to laugh. I smoothed my hat.

"Tell her," said I, "that I remembered her very well."