out collecting. I could tell you some curious stories. Your old
valentines, now. My me! The attics of the Continent must have been
ransacked for them. It is very interesting. But the scattering of a
collection is the sad part; saddest when books are dispersed. Only the
other day I saw an autograph letter of De Quincey's,--the opium-eater,
you know; it was written to the auctioneer who sold his library. It
seems De Quincey had his son buy a few of the books at his own auction.
The poor old fellow could not bear the thought of parting with them, I
fancy, when it came to the pinch."

Mr. Rowlandson waited for Phyllis to say something. Poor Phyllis! It was
even more difficult than she had expected. She was tempted to retreat;
but she thought of John's book.

"A remarkable coincidence,--your finding your way to Mrs. F.'s,"
continued Mr. Rowlandson. "And a very happy one for her."

"For me, too," said Phyllis. "We have you to thank for that."

"Well--in a way." Mr. Rowlandson nodded. "It is strange what fortuitous
circumstances seem to direct the current of our lives. I say they seem
to, Mrs. Landless, for it may be only seeming. Perhaps all is planned
for us, even when our decisions rest on the toss of a penny."

A gentle pressure against her skirt attracted Phyllis's attention.
Selima's arched back invited her caress.

"Isn't that an unusual name for a cat?" she asked, when told of it.

Mr. Rowlandson's eyes twinkled and he began to quote, straightway. His
voice was pleasant to hear:--

"'Twas on a lofty vase's side
Where China's gayest art had dy'd
The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima reclin'd
Gazed on the lake below.

"Thomas Gray, the poet, Mrs. Landless. The cat is historic. She was one
of Horace Walpole's pets at Strawberry Hill, his country-seat, when Gray
visited him there. Gray's first book was printed privately by Horace,
who had ample means and recognized genius. The book is scarce now; it
fetches five pounds and upward."

He resumed the quotation:--

"Still had she gaz'd; but midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Thro' richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

"The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.