all her born days (to say nothing of her
unborn moments) had she seen such a wonderful display of good fortune
as that which lay in the cards spread on the table before them; there
was a marriage just as sure as death. Mrs. Mangenborn was proceeding
to describe the masculine element in the marriage proposition, and Miss
Husted was trying to think who it could be, when the bell rang for the
third time just as Thurza's head made its appearance above the kitchen
stairs. Miss Husted decided to forget her dignity and go to the door
herself.

Outside stood a hack piled up with baggage, and on the doorstep,
waiting patiently, stood a gentleman who bowed when the door was opened
and asked gently with a foreign accent, if Miss Husted had a room for a
studio and a bedroom. There was much bustle and excitement, a great
deal of noise, and a still greater deal of confusion, but when it had
subsided and the hackman had been paid three times as much as he was
legally entitled to, the baggage was carried, or rather tumbled, into
the rooms engaged by the gentleman with the foreign accent. Miss
Husted rushed into Mrs. Mangenborn's room and breathlessly gasped that
her fortune had come true, for the front parlor and bedroom were let at
their full prices.

"Just think of it, Mrs. Mangborn," as Miss Husted insisted on calling
her "guest," "just think of it, full price in summer!"

Mrs. Mangenborn rose to the occasion.

"Why not?" demanded she, as if offended by Miss Husted's enthusiasm,
"why not? The cards never lie! How much do you say he is to pay?" she
went on, as if Miss Husted had told her and she had forgotten the
precise amount.

"Fourteen," replied Miss Husted, "and it's a good price."

"Not bad! But wait, you'll see that's only the beginning," and Mrs.
Mangenborn mixed up the cards lying on the table oblivious of the fact
that she had just shuffled Miss Husted's marital prospects out of
existence.

"Oh, that's nothing," she hastened to say as she saw the expression of
alarm on Miss Husted's face. "It'll come out again. It's in the cards
and it must come out." Then she asked, "Who is he? What is he?"

"He's an artist of some sort, a fine, noble-looking old gentleman.
German! oh such fine, elegant manners; to the manner born I am sure! A
musician, I think; he had a violin with him."

Mrs. Mangenborn's nose elevated itself a little.

"No money in music! What's his name?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Mis