led up together on the divan, prepared to spend one
of those infinitely delightful hours which are only known to two
thoroughly congenial women who have had the rare luck of chancing to
know one another well.

Molly began by winding her arm about her friend's shoulders and kissing
her warmly.

"'Tis like Paradise to be with you instead of that fussy old woman," she
said warmly; "now go on with what you were telling me in the
carriage,--the marquis, you know."

"There isn't any more to tell you about him, he's all over, but I'll
tell you about some one else, if you'll be good."

"I'll be good. Who, and where, and which, and what is the other?"

"I haven't any faith in you, I'm afraid you will tease me."

"Did I ever tease you before?"

"I was married then and I didn't mind. I feel differently now."

"I promise not to tease you one bit. Where did you meet him?"

"In Lucerne."

"What's his name? I know a lot of people who are in Lucerne just now.
Perhaps I know him."

"I wish that you did know him."

"Tell me his name."

"It's the composer, Herr von Ibn."

Molly screamed with joy.

"Oh, my dear, what luck you do have! Did he play for you? Have you heard
any of his things?"

"No, unfortunately. You see I only met him on Saturday, and as I came
away this morning we had to rush every second as hard as we could in
order to become acquainted at all."

"What fun to know him! He's going to be so tremendously famous, they
say; did you know that?"

"So they told me there."

"And he plays in such a wonderful manner, too. What a pity he didn't
play for you. Don't you love a violin, anyhow?"

"I don't know," said Rosina thoughtfully; "I think that I like a flute
best, but I always think whenever I see a man playing on a violin that
the attitude ought to develop very affectionate tendencies in him."

"What kind of a fellow was he to talk to? Was he agreeable?"

"Most of the American men didn't like him, I believe," said Rosina; then
she added, "but most of the American men never like any foreigners, you
know, unless it's the Englishmen, perhaps."

"But what did you think of him?"

"I thought he was very queer; and he got the better of me all the time."

"That ought to have made you hate him."

"That is what seems so odd to me. I've been thinking about him all the
time that I was on the train this morning. Do you know, Molly, that man
was positively rude to me over and over again, and yet, try as I migh