"Good heavens!" gasped Beatrice. She lay back in her chair,
and stared with horrified eyes into space. "Good--good
heavens!"

Mrs. O' Donovan Florence leaned forward and took her hand.

"What is it, my dear? What's come to you?" she asked, in
alarm.

Beatrice gave a kind of groan.

"It's absurd--it's impossible," she said; "and yet, if by any
ridiculous chance you should be right, it's too horribly
horrible." She repeated her groan. "If by any ridiculous
chance you are right, the man will think that I have been
leading him on!"

"LEADING HIM ON!" Mrs. O'Donovan Florence suppressed a shriek
of ecstatic mirth. "There's no question about my being right,"
she averred soberly. "He wears his heart behind his eyeglass;
and whoso runs may read it."

"Well, then--" began Beatrice, with an air of desperation . . .
"But no," she broke off. "YOU CAN'T be right. It's
impossible, impossible. Wait. I'll tell you the whole story.
You shall see for yourself."

"Go on," said Mrs. O'Donovan Florence, assuming an attitude of
devout attention, which she retained while Beatrice (not