e most beautiful flowers growing out of the blackest mud. Perhaps
hid in the dull residuum of my poor but honest gray matter lies the seed
of real genius that will sprout the loveliest blossoms of achievement."

"Well, anyhow, dear, you have started me thinking, and maybe we'll have
Jockobinski at Bolivar Lodge yet," she murmured. "I want to have him
first, of course, or not at all. To be second in doing a thing of that
kind is worse than never doing it at all."

Days went by and not another word was spoken on the subject of
Jockobinski and the musicale, and I began to feel that at last Henriette
had reached the end of her ingenuity--though for my own part I could not
blame her if she failed to find some plausible way out of her
disappointment. Wednesday night came, and, consumed by curiosity to
learn just how the matter stood, I attempted to sound Henriette on the
subject.

"I should like Friday evening off, Mrs. Van Raffles," said I. "If you
are going to Mrs. Shadd's musicale you will have no use for me."

"Shut up, Bunny," she returned, abruptly. "I shall need you Friday
night more than ever before. Just take this note over to Mrs. Shadd this
evening and leave it--mind you, don't wait for an answer but just leave
it, that's all."

She arose from the table and handed me a daintily scented missive
addressed to Mrs. Shadd, and I faithfully executed her errand. Bunderby,
the Shadd's butler, endeavored to persuade me to wait for an answer, but
assuring him that I wasn't aware that an answer was expected I returned
to Bolivar Lodge. An hour later Bunderby appeared at the back door and
handed me a note addressed to my mistress, which I immediately
delivered.

"Is Bunderby waiting?" asked Henriette as she read the note.

"Yes," I answered.

"Tell him to hand this to Mrs. Shadd the very first thing upon her
return to-morrow evening," she said, hastily scribbling off a note and
putting it in an envelope, which by chance she left unsealed, so that on
my way back below-stairs I was able to read it. What it said was that
she would be only too happy to oblige Mrs. Shadd, and was very sorry
indeed to hear that her son had been injured in an automobile accident
while running into Boston from Bar Harbor. It closed with the line, "you
must know, my dear Pauline, that there isn't anything I wouldn't do for
you, come weal or come woe."

This I handed to Bunderby and he made off. On my return Henriette was
dressed for travel.