was
literally caught in her net. I presume he couldn't tell to-day precisely
how it happened."

"I've no doubt she could," said I ungenerously. "I shall be anxious to
see them."

"Oh, you'll see them. It's in the middle of term--he couldn't take her
away. And his old quarters are just two blocks below us. She knew you
were coming. You'll probably see them within forty-eight hours."

We did, though not where we could do more than take observations upon
them. The Philosopher came in that evening--he had known of my coming
from the moment that Hepatica had planned to ask me. He was looking
rather less well-fed than the Skeptic, but quite as philosophical, and
altogether as friendly as ever. He looked hard at me, and wrung my hand,
and immediately began to lay out a programme for my visit. As a
beginning he had procured tickets for the Philharmonic Society concert
to be given on the following evening.

We told him about Dahlia. He had not heard. He looked quickly and
dumbfoundedly at the Skeptic, and the Skeptic grinned back at him. "You
feel for him, don't you, Philo?" he queried.

The Philosopher shook his head, and seemed, for a time, much depressed;
upon which the Skeptic rallied him. "You ought to be jubilant to think
it's not yourself," he urged his friend. "You know, there was one time
when you feared even to go home with her, though you were to be within
call from the porch all the way."

But the Philosopher cheered up presently in the pleasure of talking over
old times at the Farm. He had spent the past summer tramping through
Germany, and he and I had not met for many months.

We went to the concert next evening, we four, in a jovial mood. There
was considerable sly joking, on the Skeptic's part, concerning the
change of conditions which now made Hepatica my chaperon, instead of, as
in former days, my being alert to protect her from visiting philosophers
and skeptics. The Philosopher and I took it quite in good part, for
nothing could be more settled than the unimpassioned character of our
old friendship--as there could be nothing more satisfactory.

We had not more than taken our seats when the Skeptic leaned past
Hepatica to call my attention to two people who had come down the aisle
and were finding their places just across it and in the row ahead of us.
I turned to the Philosopher.

"There they are," I whispered. So our four pairs of eyes gazed
interestedly that way.

As she settled into place, Da