tly.

"It seems to me that it was Kate," I replied, modestly.

"Yes, Kate, of course, and do you really think she was happy ever after
with that extraordinary man Jonas?"

"I think I recollect marrying her off to one Fitzjames, but that is only
a minor detail. A novelist, my dear young lady, may assert with some
show of confidence that the weddings he brings about are warranted not
to crock, but you must remember he deals with fiction. The future lies
in the hollow of no man's hand and, since I write chiefly of modern
days, I save myself the saddening task of following my heroines to the
grave. To me they are all alive, yet, happy as the day is long,
revelling in sunshine and basking in undying love."

She folded her little hands on her lap, opened her big blue eyes very
widely and sighed gently.

"How awfully delightful!" she said, "and I think you're ever so clever.
But--but I think you'll have to pardon me."

I rose, as she gained her feet and smiled at me again. Then she rushed
off to another corner of the room and placed her hand on the coatsleeve
of a six-footer who looked at her, joyfully. Her little turned-up face,
in a fraction of a second, must have spoken several volumes. Then,
slowly and very casually, they drifted off towards the big conservatory
to the left.

Twenty minutes later, floating with the crowd, I chanced to be behind
them. It is possible that they had found the retreat too populous.

"I am sure that you must have flirted disgracefully before I came," the
man accused her, tenderly.

"Not a bit! I just sat down with the dearest old fogy who is supposed to
write novels, so that you shouldn't be jealous, if you saw me," she
replied, contentedly.

I moved away, rather swiftly. I should evidently have been delighted at
the opportunity of rendering such signal service to so charming a little
person. I had served as an aegid for her, as a buckler to protect her
innocence and display it to the world in general and to six feet of
stalwart manhood in particular. Yet, I confess that this little bud had
driven a tiny thorn in me.

"Well," I reflected, "it is perhaps good to be an old fogy with scanty
hair and the beginning of crow's feet. At any rate it helps make Frieda
fond of me and has given me the trustful friendship of Frances. Baby
Paul, I think, also appreciates his venerable friend."

Just then, Gordon came to me.

"By Jove, Dave! You're rather a fine figure of a man, when you're
pr