s
air, strolled in.

"Mr. Melanchthon Orr."

On the heels of Annandale came a cousin of Miss Waldron, a lawyer by
trade, a man with a bulldog face that was positively attractive.

There were more how-do-you-do's, the usual platitudes, interrupted by
the opening of doors at the further end of the room, where a butler, a
squad of lackeys behind him, disclosed himself in silent announcement
of dinner.

After the general move which then ensued and hosts and guests were
seated at table, Orr created an immediate diversion by calling to
Fanny Price and telling her that shortly she was to marry.

"Yes," he continued, "and my cousin Sylvia is to marry also, though
not so soon; but either Annandale or Royal will never marry at all."

Bombarded by sudden questions Orr gazed calmly about.

"How do I know? Miranda told me. Miranda the spook. She charged five
dollars for the information. If you like to make it up to me, I shall
not mind in the least. On the contrary. You see, Mrs. Loftus," Orr
added, turning to his hostess, "I happened, when I went to her, to
have your very kind invitation for this evening in my pocket, and, as
she wanted something to psychometrize, I gave her that. She held it to
her forehead and said, 'I see you in the house of an elegant
lady'--that is you, Mrs. Loftus; yes, there is no doubt about it--'and
there are present two young ladies, one fair, one dark, and two
gentlemen; one of the gentlemen will never marry, but the dark young
lady will marry in two years and the fair young lady in one. Five
dollars. Thank you. Next.'"

"Did she say nothing about me except that I am an 'elegant lady'?"
Mrs. Loftus, with a pained laugh and a high voice, inquired.

"Did she say whom I am to marry?" Fanny Price asked, smiling, as she
spoke, at Royal.

"But, Melanchthon, surely you do not believe in these things?" said
Sylvia gravely.

"Of course he does not," Loftus exclaimed. "He does not believe in
anything. Do you, Orr?"

"I believe in a great many things," the lawyer replied. "I have
precisely three hundred and sixty-five beliefs--one for every day in
the year."

"When the twenty-ninth of February comes around how do you manage
then?" said Fanny.

"Yes," said Annandale, "and how about April first?"

Orr raised a finger. "Jest if you will. But beliefs are a great
comfort, or would be among people like you who have none except in
fashion, and there is the oddity of it, for belief in this sort of
thi