not heard her, she began to talk to her husband, asking him what
was "going on down-town."

Arthur continued to eat his grapes, but he ventured to look again
at Mildred after a few moments. She, also, appeared to be
occupied with a bunch of grapes though she ate none, and only
pulled them from their stems. She sat straight, her features as
composed and pure as those of a new marble saint in a cathedral
niche; yet her downcast eyes seemed to conceal many thoughts; and
her cousin, against his will, was more aware of what these
thoughts might be than of the leisurely conversation between her
father and mother. All at once, however, he heard something that
startled him, and he listened--and here was the effect of all
Alice's forefendings; he listened from the first with a sinking
heart.

Mr. Palmer, mildly amused by what he was telling his wife, had
just spoken the words, "this Virgil Adams." What he had said
was, "this Virgil Adams--that's the man's name. Queer case."

"Who told you?" Mrs. Palmer inquired, not much interested.

"Alfred Lamb," her husband answered. "He was laughing about his
father, at the club. You see the old gentleman takes a great
pride in his judgment of men, and always boasted to his sons that
he'd never in his life made a mistake in trusting the wrong man.
Now Alfred and James Albert, Junior, think they have a great joke
on him; and they've twitted him so much about it he'll scarcely
speak to them. From the first, Alfred says, the old chap's only
repartee was, 'You wait and you'll see!' And they've asked him so