The point was, after all, Margaret Elizabeth concluded in the solitude
of her own hearth-stone, not whether she had been equal to the occasion
to-day--and she hadn't--but that he on a former occasion had been guilty
of base behaviour. If this were a real Candy Man, one might excuse him,
but he plainly was not. There was a mystery, and she loathed mysteries.
She was annoyed to the point of exasperation. She would dismiss him from
her mind now and forever.

Uncle Bob, reading the evening paper in the dining-room while Nancy set
the table, admitting as she passed back and forth an occasional savoury
odor from the kitchen region, became aware of sounds in the hall which
betokened some one descending the stairs in haste. The next moment
Margaret Elizabeth stood in the doorway.

"Uncle Bob," she said, as she drew a long white glove over her elbow,
her face shadowed by her plumy hat, "you remember you said it might be
worse, and I insisted it couldn't be? You were right, it is infinitely
worse."

With this she was gone, and a premonitory buzz of great dignity and
reserve from the street presently indicated that she was being borne
away in the Pennington car.

And now it was that Miss Bentley discovered how impossible it is to
forget when you wish to. You may assist a treacherous memory with a
memorandum, but no corresponding resource offers when you wish to
forget. You may succeed in diverting your thoughts for a time, but
sooner or later, ten to one, in the most illogical manner, the very
thing you seek to avoid forces itself upon your attention. What could