hlia, whose pretty, flushed face had been
turned in every direction over the house as she got out of her evening
coat, caught sight of us. She bowed and smiled with great cordiality,
and immediately called her companion's attention to us. The
Professor--eighteen years Dahlia's senior, but one of the best men who
ever walked the earth, as we had long since discovered--turned and
scanned us over his spectacles. Then he also responded to our smiling
recognitions with a somewhat subdued but pleased acknowledgment. Dahlia
continued to whisper to him, still glancing back at us from time to time
with looks of good-fellowship, and he appeared to lend an attentive ear,
though he did not again turn toward us.

As for us, in the interest of our observation of the bridal pair, we
fell rather silent. I was conscious that the Philosopher, regarding them
somewhat steadily, drew a deep breath which sounded like a sigh of
dissatisfaction. Noting how thin the Professor's ash-coloured hair
seemed to be, over the crown of his head, in comparison with Dahlia's
luxuriant and elaborately dressed chestnut locks, I felt depressedly
that the disparity in age was more marked than is often seen. This, in
itself, of course, was nothing; but taken in connection with----

The Skeptic leaned forward again.

"What'll you wager I couldn't get up a flirtation with her to-night, if
I happened to sit next her?" he challenged in a whisper.

"Don!" murmured Hepatica; but she smiled.

"I'm not anywhere near his age," continued the Skeptic. "My auburn
tresses are thick upon my head, my evening clothes were made a decade
later than his. If I were only sitting next her!"

At this moment some more people came down the aisle and were shown to
the seats immediately beyond our friends. As the Professor and Dahlia
stood up to let them through, we saw that though the newcomers passed
the Professor without recognition, the young man exchanged greetings
with Dahlia. As they took their seats the man, a floridly handsome
person, was at Dahlia's elbow.

For the third time the Skeptic leaned forward. "It's just as well,
perhaps," he whispered, "that my observations are to be made upon a
proxy. What do you think the new chap's chances are for fun on both
sides of him?"

I did not condescend to answer. And without further delay the famous
conductor of a famous orchestra came commandingly to the front of the
stage, welcomed by an outburst of applause, and with the res