"Shall I tell your fortune?"

"Not now. I had much rather you would tell me the meaning of this
play."

I leaned toward her and whispered mysteriously: "The truth is, I belong
to a secret society, and I was cutting the cards to see whether or not
I should blow up the post-office to-night or the police-station. You
mustn't tell anybody."

"Oh!" She started back from the table. "You do not look it," she
added suddenly.

"I know it; appearances are so deceptive," said I sadly.

Then the old man laughed, and the girl laughed, and I laughed; and I
wasn't quite sure that the grave waiter did not crack the ghost of a
smile--in relief.

[Illustration: The handsomest girl I had set eyes upon in a month of
moons.]

"And what, may I ask, was the fatal card?" inquired the old man,
folding his paper.

"The ace of spades; we always choose that gloomy card in secret
societies. There is something deadly and suggestive about it," I
answered morbidly.

"Indeed."