dreamed that it was _your_ name. Somehow I had the
impression that that first P in it stood for Peter."

"I don't know why," answered Pink in a hurt tone. "I was named for my
grandfather, Philip Pinckney, so I don't see why I haven't as good a
right to it as any one."

"Oh, of course you have," cried Mary. "I was just surprised, that's all.
It's only that I've always regarded it as the especial property of one
of my very best friends, I suppose."

"Well, I rather hoped that you counted _me_ as one of your very best
friends," was the gloomy response. To Mary's unspeakable relief Jack
came swinging up behind them just then with some jolly remark that saved
her the necessity of an answer, and the good nights were spoken without
any further reference to personal matters.

It was so late that she undressed as quickly and quietly as she could,
in order not to awaken her mother in the next room. As she did so she
kept thinking, "I wonder what it is he always calls me to himself? I'd
give a fortune to know. But I suppose I never will find out, for I'm
sure that I hurt his feelings saying what I did about Phil's name. Why,
I could no more call him Philip than I could call him _mother_! Those
names belong so entirely to the people I've always given them to."

It was not until she had been tucked warmly in bed for some time, with
her eyes closed, that she thought of something which made her sit bolt
upright, regardless of the icy wind blowing in through her open windows.

"_Philip and Mary on a shilling!_ Merciful heavens!" she exclaimed in a
whisper. "It can't be that that old shilling that I drew out of
Eugenia's bridecake really has any power to influence my destiny!"

There was something vaguely alarming in the knowledge that Pink claimed
the name of Philip. Long ago Mary had taken the story of _The Three
Weavers_ to heart, and vowed that no one could be her prince who did not
fit her ideals "as the falcon's feathers fit the falcon." Now she
exclaimed almost savagely to herself:

"Why, Pink Upham no more measures up to my ideals than,
than--_anything!_ It's ridiculous to believe that an old shilling could
influence my destiny that way. It can't! It _sha'n't_! I simply won't
let it!"

Then, as she lay back on her pillow again and pulled the blankets over
her shivering shoulders, she thought drearily, "But, oh, dear, this is
going to interfere with my only good times! Whenever he is nice to me
I'll think of that dread