seemed to be going. But it was difficult to say anything without saying too much; so that, to begin with, I merely risked the observation that our young friend was remarkably pretty. As the point admitted of no discussion, this didn't take us very far; nor was the subject much enlarged by our unanimity as to the fact that she was also remarkably nice. I observed that I had had very little chance to talk with her, for which I was sorry, having known her mother for years. My hostess at this looked vaguely round, as if she had missed her for the first time. "Sure enough, she has not been about. I dare say she's been writing to her mother—she's always writing to her mother." "Not always," I mentally reflected; but I waited discreetly, admiring everything and rising to the occasion and the views, before I inquired casually who the young man might be who had sat two or three below me at luncheon—the rather good-looking young man, with the regular features and the brownish clothes—not the one with the mustache.
"Oh, poor Jack Brandon!" said my com-
