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Miles considered the proposition silently. Then,—
"I wish I could think so," he answered, "but—no, I don't believe it was that."
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"Well, anyway, if you see her again
it might be well to—ah—find out."
"Thanks," answered Miles, non-*committingly.
By the way," said the artist, presently, "I've got my copy of the new novel; much obliged. I haven't had time to look into it yet. What's it about?"
"Oh, the usual things," answered the other.
"Must be selling pretty well, from what I hear?"
"Remarkably well, yes. I wish to heaven I cared!"
Miles was afflicted with terrible dreams that night, which finally left
