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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."

"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