ng is very fashionable now, particularly in London. Yes, indeed,
Lady Cloden--you remember her, she was Clara Hastings--well, she went
to a spook in Tottenham Court Road, and the spook told her that she
would have twins. Immediately she had herself insured. In London, you
know, you can be insured against anything. The twins appeared and she
got L5,000. Belief in this sort of thing is therefore not merely
fashionable but convenient."

In the ripple of laughter which followed the logic, Orr turned to Mrs.
Loftus, Annandale to Miss Waldron, Loftus to Fanny Price.

"You take very kindly to snubbing, don't you?" said the latter.

"I?"

"Oh, pooh! The other day I saw Mr. Royal Loftus trying to scrape
acquaintance with a young person in the street. I never laughed more
in my life. She would not look at you. Is that sort of thing amusing?
Why don't you take a girl of your size?"

Loftus looked into Fanny's eyes. "If you want to know, because you are
all so deuced prim."

"Ah!" and Fanny made a tantalizing little face, showing, as she did
so, the point of her tongue. "Now tell me, what makes you think so?"

Across the table Annandale was talking to Sylvia Waldron. His manner
was rather earnest, but his utterance had become a trifle thick.

"Oh, Arthur," the girl at last interrupted him. "Don't drink any more.
You have had five glasses of champagne already."

Heroically Annandale put his glass down. "Since you wish it, I won't.
But it does not hurt me. I can stand anything."

"I am afraid it may grow on you."

Annandale laughed. "Grow on me," he repeated. "I like that. Why, I am
cultivating it."

Miss Waldron laughed too. "Yes, but you know you must not. I won't let
you." Then at once, with that tact which was part of her, she changed
the subject. "Doesn't Fanny look well tonight?"

"Very. She is the prettiest girl in New York. But you are the best
and the dearest. What is more, you are an angel."

"To you I want to try to be."

"Only," resumed Annandale with a spark of the wit which is born of
champagne, "don't try to be a saint--it is a step backward."

"Yes, Mrs. Loftus," Orr was saying, "Miranda is fat, very fat. All
mediums are. The fatter they are the more confidence you may have."

Then there was more small talk. Courses succeeded each other. Sweets
came and went. Presently Mrs. Loftus looked circuitously about and
slowly arose. When she and the girls had gone and the men were
reseated Loftus turned to