ellent.

"Where's LaHume?" grinned Chilvers. "Where's our Percy? He must hear
this."

"LaHume and Miss Lawrence are out playing," languidly answered Marshall.
"What's happened? Don't prolong this suspense."

Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield turned the corner and Chilvers saw them.
Chilvers is married, but has lost none of his effervescence and
consequently retains his popularity.

"Come here," he called, motioning to these two charming young ladies.
"I've got something for you! Great news; great news!"

"What is it?" asked Miss Ross, her deep-brown eyes brightening with
curiosity.

"Another heiress coming!" announced Chilvers, with the bow of a jeweller
displaying some rare gem "--another heiress on her way to Woodvale! This
is going to be a hard season for such perennial bachelors as Smith,
Boyd, Carter, and others I could name. You girls will have your work cut
out when this new heiress unpacks her trunks and sets fluttering the
hearts of these steel-plated golfers."

"Who is it?" impatiently demanded the chorus. Chilvers has all the arts
of an actor in working for a climax.

"Miss Grace Harding; that's all!" said Chilvers.

"The famous beauty?" cried Miss Ross.

"Last season's society sensation in Paris and London?" exclaimed Miss
Dangerfield.

"Daughter of the great railway magnate?" asked Marshall.

"The one to whom Baron Torpington was reported engaged?" I added.

"You all have guessed it the first time," laughed Chilvers. "She's the
only daughter of Robert L. Harding, magnate, financier, Wall Street
general, the man who recently beat the pirate kings down there at their
own game. How much is Harding supposed to be worth, Smith?"

"Thirty millions or so," I replied.

"Well, I wish I had the 'so.' That would keep me in golf balls for a
while," Chilvers continued, turning his attention to the ladies. "What
show have you unfortunate girls against a combination like that? And
think of Percy LaHume! What will that poor boy do? Percy heads for the
richest heiress of each season with that same mighty instinct which
leads a boy to cast wistful glances at the largest cut of pie. He
thought the heiresses had quit coming, and now this happens; but he has
gone so far in his campaign for the hand and cheque-book of Miss
Lawrence, that he cannot stop quick without dislocating his spine. I
doubt if that poor little Lawrence girl will ever have more than five
millions."

"Never mind Percy and his prospects," sa