glass of
you I might make my approach to your uncle an easier task. So I looked
at you and smiled, and you giggled."

"Giggled!" cried Phyllis, indignantly.

Pembroke was laughing.

"Yes, actually giggled," I went on. "I laid down a twenty-five-cent
piece, and you poured but some water which had had nothing more than a
mild flirtation with a lemon, and I gulped it down. I held out my
hand, and you said that there wasn't any change. I smiled a false
smile. Let me make a confession."

"Well?" mockingly from Phyllis.

"It was my last quarter. It was very pathetic. I had to walk four
miles down town. I did not know your uncle well enough or I should
have borrowed carfare from him."

"And I took your last penny?" said Phyllis, gently. "Why did you not
tell me then?"

"I was twenty-two and proud," said I. "Where are you going?" for she
had risen.

"I'll be back in a moment," she said, as she left the room. When she
returned she put out her hand. On the palm lay two bright American
dimes.

"What's this?" I asked.

"The change."

"Very good!" laughed Pembroke.

I said nothing, but took out my wallet. In opening it to put in the
dimes, something fell to the floor. It was Gretchen's rose.

"What is that?" asked Phyllis, as I stooped to pick it up.

"It is the end of a story," I answered. I busied myself with the fire
till the poker grew too hot.

"How many romances commonplace wallets contain?" said Pembroke,
sententiously.

"I have two in mine," said I.

Pembroke looked at Phyllis, but the fire seemed to be claiming her
attention. Then he looked at me, but I was gazing at Phyllis. He was
in a puzzle.

"Do you know, Miss Landors," he said, "that I never dreamed to meet you
again when I saw you in Vienna last year?"

"Vienna?" said she. "I have never been to Vienna."

I suddenly brought down my heel on Pembroke's toes.

"Ah, a curious mistake on my part. I suppose the ball at the ministry
to-night will be your first on the continent?"

I gazed admiringly at him. He had not even looked at me. He was
certainly clever.

"Yes," said Phyllis, "and already I believe I am going to have what
they call stage fright, though I cannot understand why I should feel
that way."

"Possibly it's a premonition," said I, absently.

"And of what?" asked Phyllis.

"How should I know?" said I, mysteriously.

"What in the world is going on?" she demanded. "You step on Mr.
Pembroke's toes, you