is a
particularly healthy old gentleman of eighty. He was forty years old when
he married. He didn't expect to marry, you know--he couldn't see his way to
ever affording it. But he jumped into the title suddenly and then, of
course, he married right away. He had to. You'd know what a hurry he must
have been in to look at my mamma-in-law's portrait."

"Was she so very beautiful?"

"No; she was so very homely. Maude's very like her."

Jack laughed.

She laughed, too.

"Aren't we happy together?" she asked.

"My sky knows but one cloud," he rejoined, "and that is that Monday comes
after Sunday."

"But we shall meet again," said Mrs. Rosscott. "Because," she added
mischievously, "I don't suppose that it's on account of my cousin Maude
that you rebel at the approach of Monday."

"No," said Jack. "It may not be polite to say so to you, but I wasn't in
the least thinking of your cousin."

"Poor girl!" said Mrs. Rosscott thoughtfully; "and she was so sweet to
you, too. Mustn't it be terrible to have a face like that?"

"It must indeed," said Jack; "I can think of but one thing worse."

"What?"

"To marry a face like that."

She laughed again.

"You're cruel," she declared; "after all her face isn't her fortune, so
what does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter at all to me," said Jack. "I know of very few things
that can matter less to me than Miss Lorne's face."

"Now, you're cruel again; and she was so nice to you too. Absolutely, I
don't believe that the edges of her smile came together once while she was
talking to you last night."

"Did you spy on us to that extent?" said Jack. "I wouldn't have believed
it of you."

"Oh, I'm very awful," she said airily. "You'll be more surprised the
farther you penetrate into the wilderness of my ways."

"And when will I have a chance to plunge into the jungle, do you think?"

"Any Saturday or Sunday that you happen to be in town."

"Are you going to live in town?"

"For a while. I've taken a house until the beginning of July. I expect
some friends over, and I want to entertain them."

Jack felt the sky above become refulgent. He was in the habit of spending
every Saturday night in the city--he and Burnett together.

"May I come as often as I like?" he asked.

"Certainly," said she; "because you know if you should come too often I
can tell the man at the door to say I'm 'not at home' to you."

"But if he ever says: 'She's not at home to you,' I shall walk rig