r of
that kind," she said, tartly.

"You haven't eaten many of Dicky's dinners then," I said audaciously,
with a little moue at him. "He orders the most perfect dinners of any
one I know."

"Of course, with your wide experience, you ought to be a critical
judge of his ability," my mother-in-law snapped back.

Her tone was even more insulting than her words. It tipped with
cruel venom her allusion to the quiet, almost cloistered life of my
girlhood.

I drew a long breath as I saw my mother-in-law adjust her lorgnette
and proceed to gaze through it with critical hauteur at the other
diners. I hoped that her curiosity and interest in the things going on
around her would make her forget her imaginary grievances, but my hope
was destined to be short lived.

It was while we were discussing our oysters, the very first offered of
the season, that she spoke to me, suddenly, abruptly:

"Margaret, do you know that man at the second table back of us? He
hasn't taken his eyes from you for the last ten minutes."

My heart almost stopped beating, for my intuition told me at once the
identity of the gazer. It must be the man whose uncanny, mournful look
had so distressed me when I was waiting for Lillian Underwood in the
little reception room at the Sydenham the preceding Monday, the man
who had followed us to the little tea room, who had even taken the
same train to Marvin with me.

I felt as if I could not lift my eyes to look at the man my
mother-in-law indicated, and yet I knew I must glance casually at
him if I were to avert the displeased suspicion which I already saw
creeping into her eyes.

When my eyes met his he gave not the slightest sign that he knew I was
looking at him, simply continued his steady gaze, which had something
of wistful mournfulness in it. I averted my eyes as quickly as
possible, and tried to look absolutely unconcerned.

"I am sure he cannot be looking at me," I said, lightly. "I do not
know him at all."

I hoped that my mother-in-law would not notice my evasion, but she was
too quick for me.

"You may not know him, but have you ever seen him before?" she asked,
shrewdly.

"Really, mother," Dicky interposed, his face darkening, "you're going
a little too far with that catechism. Madge says she doesn't know the
man, that settles it. By the way, Madge, is he annoying you? If he is,
I can settle him in about two seconds."

"Oh, no," I said nervously, "I don't think the man's really looking