the antequarian congress. I feel I should do it badly. I am so
thankful he has NO relatives--in England. I should have been so
TERRIBLY nervous. Twelve hours ago I could not have DREAMT of it,
and now I walk on tiptoe for fear of waking up. Did I leave my
chinchilla at your rooms? Don't be angry with me. I should have
told you if I had known. In haste. Yours, Mary."

"It's dated from Marylebone Road, and yesterday afternoon she did
leave her chinchilla in my rooms, which makes me think it really
must be from Mary Ramsbotham. Otherwise I should have my doubts,"
added Miss Fossett, as she folded up the letter and replaced it in
her bag.

"Id is love!" was the explanation of Dr. William Smith, his round,
red face illuminated with poetic ecstasy. "Love has gone to her--
has dransformed her once again into the leedle maid."

"Love," retorted Susan Fossett, "doesn't transform an intelligent,
educated woman into a person who writes a letter all in jerks,
underlines every other word, spells antiquarian with an 'e,' and
Burcott's name, whom she has known for the last eight years, with
only one 't.' The woman has gone stark, staring mad!"

"We must wait until we have seen him," was Peter's judicious view.
"I should be so glad to think that the dear lady was happy."

"So should I," added Miss Fossett drily.

"One of the most sensible women I have ever met," commented William
Clodd. "Lucky man, whoever he is. Half wish I'd thought of it