themselves none
too happily assorted.

"I enjoyed your remarks very much indeed, Brother Burnham," said
Reverend Fullerton, with a mendacity for which no doubt the recording
angel dropped a suitable tear. "I agree with you that the tendency
towards looseness of living in modern life----"

Reverend Fullerton coughed ominously. Anyone very close to him might
have heard half-whispered words of "brazen exhibition" and "necessity of
public measures."

But these did not speak freely, because close behind them came yet
two--Dr. Arthur Bowling, the homeopathic physician, who somewhat against
his will had fallen into the company of Miss Elvira Sonsteby. Now, Miss
Elvira Sonsteby was the town's professional invalid. She tried regularly
all the doctors in turn as they arrived. It was well known of all that
she had suffered all the diseases ever known to man, as well as many of
which no man ever had known. Just now, with much eagerness, she was
explaining to Dr. Bowling that she feared her neuritis had become
complicated with valvular heart trouble, and that she suspected gall
stones as well. As to her rheumatism, of course she had long since given
up all hope of that--but this trouble in her arm----; and much other
conversation extremely painful to Dr. Bowling at that time, because he
was much possessed of the inclination to step forward a few paces and
walk with Sally Lester, the banker's daughter. But even they hit common
ground of converse when Miss Sonsteby voiced her belief that it was an
outrage for a public personage like a certain milliner she could name if
she cared to say, to appear in public on an occasion such as this, when
only the most refined personages of the town should have been invited.

"I am sure," said she in tense tones to the young doctor, "that although
alone in the world myself--not so old as some would try to make me out,
either--I would die rather than have anyone voice the slightest
suspicion of blame against me--the slightest blemish on my name. Now,
_that_ woman...."

Back of these two came yet others. Old Mr. Rawlins had gently said his
farewells to Aurora and her son when they emerged upon the open street,
and as he advanced passed certain of these groups, until presently he
fell in with none less than Miss Hattie Clarkson, soprano and
elocutionist of Spring Valley, who had favored the assemblage that
evening with two selections, but who, it seemed, was not wholly
satisfied.

"It seemed to