ght you were going to be
silly and throw away your chances on some of the men who used to flirt
with you. Archie Mickleham may not be a genius, but he's a good fellow
and a swell and rich; and he's not a pauper, like Phil Meadows, or a
snob like Charlie Dawson, or--' shall I go on, Mr. Carter? No, I won't.
I didn't see what it was."

"Yes, you shall go on."

"O, no, I can't," and she folded up the letter. "Then I will," and I'm
ashamed to say I snatched the letter. Miss Dolly jumped to her feet. I
fled behind the table. She ran round. I dodged.

"'Or'" I began to read.

"Stop!" cried she.

"'Or a young spendthrift like that man--I forget his name--who you used
to go on with at such a pace at Monte Carlo last winter.'"

"Stop!" she cried. "You must stop, Mr. Carter."

So then I stopped. I folded the letter and handed it back to her. Her
cheeks flushed red as she took it.

"I thought you were a gentleman," said she, biting her lip.

"I was at Monte Carlo last winter myself," said I.

"Lord Mickleham," said the butler, throwing open the door.

RETRIBUTION

In future I am going to be careful what I do. I am also--and this is by
no means less important--going to be very careful what Miss Dolly Foster
does. Everybody knows (if I may quote her particular friend Nellie
Phaeton) that dear Dolly means no harm, but she is "just a little
harumscarum." I thanked Miss Phaeton for the expression.

The fact is that "old lady M." (Here I quote Miss Dolly) sent for me the
other day. I have not the honor of knowing the Countess, and I went
in some trepidation. When I was ushered in, Lady Mickleham put up her
"starers." (You know those abominations! Pince-nez with long torture--I
mean tortoise--shell handles.)

"Mr.--er--Carter?" said she.

I bowed. I would have denied it if I could.

"My dears!" said Lady Mickleham.

Upon this five young ladies who had been sitting in five straight-backed
chairs, doing five pieces of embroidery, rose, bowed, and filed out of
the room. I felt very nervous.

A pause followed. Then the Countess observed--and it seemed at first
rather irrelevant--

"I've been reading an unpleasant story."

"In these days of French influence," I began apologetically (not that
I write such stories, or any stories, but Lady Mickleham invites an
apologetic attitude), and my eye wandered to the table. I saw nothing
worse (or better) than the morning paper there.

"Contained in a friend's letter,"