n must have written. It can't be that several people
would bother to."

"You won't ever know who wrote, so don't you fret."

They were crossing the Max-Joseph Platz diagonally, and a light flashing
from a passing trolley seemed to suddenly illuminate her brain.

"I bet I do know," she cried.

"I bet you don't."

"It was a man; now wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was a man; but I won't say a word more."

She smiled, triumphant in her woman's intuition.

"It was that man at Zurich," she exclaimed; "wasn't it?"

He turned into the Residenzstrasse and made no reply.

"It was, wasn't it?" she insisted.

"I shan't tell."

"You needn't tell. I know that it was and you know that it was too, so
I'm satisfied."

They went along past the two sentinels who guard the gate of the royal
palace, and emerged on the large open space that spreads before the
Feldherrnhalle. From there the Ludwigsstrasse stretches straight out and
away to the Siegesthor, stretches in one magnificent splendor of breadth
and boulevard and electric lights. They took the right-hand side and set
off at a pace neither swift nor slow--just such a pace as will allow
sufficient breath for ample conversation.

"You know you'll marry again, Rosina, no matter what you may say; you
know that, don't you?"

"No, I don't."

"Nonsense!"

"Well, I'm sure that I won't for a long time."

"Of course you can't until the two years are out, but they're out this
October; and you know the more dead-set you are against doing anything
the surer you are to do it. We all know that just by the light of the
past."

She elevated her eyebrows and made no reply.

"You've got so much money that naturally we couldn't hear that any one
was following you continually, without wanting to know what he was
after. I should think you could see how that would strike Uncle John."

"Monsieur von Ibn doesn't mean to marry any more than I do," she
declared positively.

"Doesn't he? How do you know?"

"He told me so himself."

"When?"

"Ever so many times."

He laughed and stopped to examine one of the posters of the
"Elfscharfrichters,"--the one of the cadaverous lady all in black, with
her hands outspread.

"What interests you in him, anyhow?" he asked after a little.

"Can't a woman enjoy being with a man without wanting to marry him? I
like him because he's so original."

"He's original all right," Jack reflected; "that's very, very true. He's
the first man who ever though