y_ nervous. Twelve hours ago I could not have _dreamt_ of it,
and now I walk on tiptoe for fear of waking up. Did I leave my
chinchilla at your rooms? Don't be angry with me. I should have told
you if I had known. In haste. Yours, Mary."

"It's dated from Marylebone Road, and yesterday afternoon she did leave
her chinchilla in my rooms, which makes me think it really must be from
Mary Ramsbotham. Otherwise I should have my doubts," added Miss Fossett,
as she folded up the letter and replaced it in her bag.

"Id is love!" was the explanation of Dr. William Smith, his round, red
face illuminated with poetic ecstasy. "Love has gone to her--has
dransformed her once again into the leedle maid."

"Love," retorted Susan Fossett, "doesn't transform an intelligent,
educated woman into a person who writes a letter all in jerks, underlines
every other word, spells antiquarian with an 'e,' and Burcott's name,
whom she has known for the last eight years, with only one 't.' The
woman has gone stark, staring mad!"

"We must wait until we have seen him," was Peter's judicious view. "I
should be so glad to think that the dear lady was happy."

"So should I," added Miss Fossett drily.

"One of the most sensible women I have ever met," commented William
Clodd. "Lucky man, whoever he is. Half wish I'd thought of it myself."

"I am not saying that he isn't," retorted Miss Fossett. "It isn't him
I'm worrying about."

"I preesume you mean 'he,'" suggested the Wee Laddie. "The verb 'to
be'--"

"For goodness' sake," suggested Miss Fossett to Tommy, "give that man
something to eat or drink. That's the worst of people who take up
grammar late in life. Like all converts, they become fanatical."

"She's a ripping good sort, is Mary Ramsbotham," exclaimed Grindley
junior, printer and publisher of _Good Humour_. "The marvel to me is
that no man hitherto has ever had the sense to want her."

"Oh, you men!" cried Miss Fossett. "A pretty face and an empty head is
all you want."

"Must they always go together?" laughed Mrs. Grindley junior, _nee_
Helvetia Appleyard.

"Exceptions prove the rule," grunted Miss Fossett.

"What a happy saying that is," smiled Mrs. Grindley junior. "I wonder
sometimes how conversation was ever carried on before it was invented."

"De man who would fall in love wid our dear frent Mary," thought Dr.
Smith, "he must be quite egsceptional."

"You needn't talk about her as if she was a monster