with him
at the same time, for the most ordinary of men have sometimes a
powerful attraction for the most superior of girls, and Arthur Beguelin
was much above the ordinary, in looks, manners, breeding, and wealth.
He was, as I have said, almost rich, which would of itself, to the
cynic, preclude his being at all nice. But he was nice. I liked him,
the Angel liked him, and these two girls loved him.

I will admit, however, that I was surprised,--just a little,--at first,
but after I thought about it, I said to Aubrey, "Well, why not?" He
said, "Why not what?"

"Why _shouldn't_ two girls be in love with him?"

"They should," said the Angel, pleasantly. "There is no doubt in the
world that they should. But who are the girls and who is the man?"

I thought of course that he knew what I was talking about, or I
shouldn't have begun in the middle like that, but after all, if you
_do_ begin in the middle, you can often skip the whole beginning, and
hurry along to the end.

"Why, Artie Beg, to be sure! Who else? And as to the girls--well, as
I discovered it for myself, I shall not be betraying their confidence
to say that the girls are--will you _promise_ not to tell nor to
interfere in anyway?"

"Of course," said the Angel.

"Well, the girls are Flora Forsyth and Cary Farquhar."

"Flora Forsyth!" exclaimed the Angel, with a wry face.

"Now, Aubrey, what _have_ you against that poor girl? To me she is one
of the most fascinating creatures I ever saw. If I were a man, I
should be crazy about her."

"Then if you had been Samson, Delilah would have made a fool of you
just as easily as she did of him."

"But Flora is no Delilah, Aubrey."

"She's worse!" said the Angel, shortly.

Aubrey leaned back in his Morris chair and puffed at his pipe.
Presently he spoke:

"Those two girls are both clever,--as clever as they make 'em,--but
Cary's cleverness is full of ozone, while Flora's is permeated with a
narcotic. Cary's tricks make one laugh, but the other girl's give one
the shivers."

"Oh, is it as bad as that?" I said, in affright. "Don't you like her?"

"Like her!" reflected the Angel, slowly. "I hate her."

I gasped. Never, never had my husband expressed even a settled dislike
of any one before, while as to the word "hate"--

"Oh, Aubrey!" I cried, tearfully. "I _wish_ you had said it before.
The fact is, I've--well, I've invited her to visit me and she says
she'll come."

If I expected an expl