in flight.

"And who do you suppose was here at lunch to-day? You must guess or you
shan't have your letter back. I'll give you just one minute. Oh! I saw
Laura Manhattan at Fantasia's. Don't forget that we are to dine with her
to-morrow. She came in to row about a dress. I was rowing, too. You have
no idea what a day I have had. You will have to give Fantasia a talking
to. Look at the frippery I have on. And she promised that I should have
something for to-night. There ought to be some punishment for such
people. Don't you think so, Mr. Arnswald? When people in Wall Street
don't keep their promises, they are put in jail, aren't they? Well, jail
is too good for that horrid old French-woman of a dressmaker, she ought
to have the thumb-screws, the rack, and the hot side of the fagot. I
will never believe her again, no, not even when I know she is telling
the truth. She is the most ornamental liar I ever encountered. It is my
opinion she would rather lie than not. Laura told me--but here, the
minute's up--you must guess, you must guess rightly, and you can only
guess once."

And Eden waved the letter again and laughed in her husband's beard.

The gown which she wore, and which she had characterized as frippery,
was an artful combination of tulle and of silk; it was colorless, yet
silvery, and in it Eden, bare of arm and of neck, looked a water nymph
garmented in sheen and foam. From her hair came an odor of distant
oases. In her eyes were evocations of summer, and beneath them, on her
cheeks and on the lobes of her ears, health had placed its token in
pink. The corners of her mouth were upraised like the ends of the Greek
bow, and now that she was laughing her lips suggested a red fruit cut
in twain. She was the personification of caprice, adorably constructed,
and constructed to be adored. Arnswald evidently found her appearance
alluring, for his eyes followed her every movement.

"Hurry up," she continued, as merrily as before; "the minute's gone."

Usselex may have been annoyed, but he affected to enter into the jest.
"Your father--" he hazarded, and stretched his hand for the note.

But Eden again retreated. "You have lost," she cried; "no one was here."
And finding herself at a safe distance, "I am a better guesser than
you," she added, "I can tell what is in this letter without reading it.
Now answer me, what will you give me if I do? What ought he to give me,
Mr. Arnswald? Prompt him, can't you? I have never se