an end. She willed it to trustees for building and maintaining a
Hospital for Stray Dogs and Homeless Cats, and those learned in the law
say that the trust will stand.

A LOST DAY.

BY EDGAR FAWCETT.

"My Family," John Dalrymple would say, "have the strange failing (that
is, nearly all of them except myself, on the paternal side) of----"

And then somebody would always try to interrupt him. At the Gramercy,
the small but charming club of which he had been for years an honored
member, they made a point of interrupting him when he began on his
family failing. Not a few of them held to the belief that it was a myth
of Dalrymple's imagination. Still, others argued, all of the clan except
John himself had been a queer lot; there was no real certainty that they
had not done extraordinary acts. Meanwhile, apart from his desire to
delve among ancestral records and repeat tales which had been told many
times before, he was a genuine favorite with his friends. But that
series of family anecdotes remained a standing joke.

They all pitied him when it became known that his engagement to the
pretty winsome widow, Mrs. Carrington, was definitely broken. He was
past forty now, and had not been known to pay serious court to any woman
before in at least ten years. Of course Mrs. Carrington was rich. But
then her money could not have attracted Dalrymple, for he was rich
himself, in spite of his plain way of living there in that small
Twenty-second Street basement house.

But the widow's money had doubtless lured to her side the gentleman who
had cut poor Dalrymple out. A number of years ago, when this little
occurrence which we are chronicling took place, it was not so easy as it
is now to make sure of a foreigner's credentials and antecedents. The
Count de Pommereul, a reputed French nobleman of high position, had
managed to get into the Gramercy as a six-months' member, and had
managed also to cross the thresholds of numerous select New York
drawing-rooms. At the very period of his introduction to Mrs. Carrington
her engagement with Dalrymple had already become publicly announced.
Then, in a few weeks, society received a shock. Dalrymple was thrown
over, and it transpired that the brilliant young widow was betrothed to
the Count.

Dalrymple, calm and self-contained, had nothing to say on the subject of
why he had received such shabby treatment, and nobody ventured to
interrogate him. Some people believed in the Count,