afraid. I won't tell a soul. It's too romantic and fascinating for
words--or to put into words. He let me have my fortune told by an Arab
sand diviner, who came while we were at dinner. I can't repeat to you
what the fortune-teller said. But I feel as if I were living in a book.
Oh, if only I were writing it myself and could make everything happen
just as I want it to happen! Do you know one thing I would put into the
story?"

"No, I can't think," I said, rather anxiously.

"I would have _you_ propose to Monny."

"Oh--by Jove, Mrs. East!"

"Why--don't you admire her?"

"But of course. She's irresistible. Only she's so horribly rich. And
besides, she doesn't think of me in that way."

"You can't be sure. Now, Lord Ernest, I'm going to whisper you a
secret. I believe--I really do--that Monny would be _glad_ if you'd
propose. If I were in your place, if I _liked_ her, I would do so as
soon as possible. It might save her from humiliation--from a great
trouble."

Being a duffer, I could only say once again, "By Jove!"