eals to men without intellect. She was dressed
extravagantly: too many furbelows, too many jewels, too many flowers.
Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene recognized her instantly and turned her head
toward the window. She heard the woman pass by her, enter the hall and
leave the house. She saw her walk quickly away, stop suddenly as if
she had forgotten something, open her large purse, turn its contents
inside out, replace them, and proceed. But a letter lay on the
sidewalk unnoticed. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene secretly hoped that it would
remain there till she made her departure.

"Handsome woman, isn't she?" said Madame. "I don't know what it is,
but they are always good-looking."

"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who knew very well who the
woman was.

"She is one of Mr. McQuade's lady friends."

"Indeed?"

"Yes." Madame was shrewd. She saw that it wouldn't do to tell Mrs.
Franklyn-Haldene anything about a woman who could in no way be of use
to her. "Have you heard of the Sybil?"

"The Sybil?" repeated Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene.

"Yes. A new fortune-teller, and everybody says she's a wonder. I
haven't been to her yet, but I'm goin' just as soon as I get time."

"Do you believe they know what they are talking about?" incredulously.

"Know! I should say I did. Old Mother Danforth has told me lots of
things that have come true. She was the one who predicted the Spanish
war and the president's assassination. It is marvelous, but she done
it."

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shuddered. With all her faults, she loved the
English language.

"How do you want your hair fixed?" Madame inquired, seeing that her
patron's interest in mediums was not strong.

"The same as usual. Last week you left a streak, and I am sure
everybody noticed it at the Gordon tea. Be careful to-day."

Thereupon Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene constituted herself a martyr to the
cause. She was nervous and fidgety in the chair, for the picture of
that letter on the sidewalk kept recurring. In the meantime Madame
told her all that had happened and all that hadn't, which is equally
valuable. The toilet lasted an hour; and when Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene
rose from the chair, Madame was as dry as a brook in August. Her
patron hurried to the street. The letter was still on the sidewalk.
Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene picked it up and quickly sought her carriage.
Pah! how the thing smelt of sachet-powder. Her aristocratic nose
wrinkled in disdain. But her curiosity surmounted her natural