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 Frederika was laying a small table with the breakfast-paraphernalia.

Will you have some coffee, Fannie? Campaspe queried.

Thanks, no. I shall never eat again. How's your father? Not that I care.

Campaspe smiled. I don't know, Fannie. You know I never see him.

Alice? Mrs. Blake made a wry face.

Oh! Alice married.

I heard something. . . . Mrs. Blake's face assumed a vague expression. . . . I think she wrote me.

Campaspe sipped her coffee. He left her a month later, she announced.

Mrs. Blake looked annoyed. Why didn't you let me know? I would have cabled Bravo to the boy. What a dreadfully priggish little snob Alice is! Where is the boy now? I'd like to meet him.

I don't know where he is, said Campaspe.

Mrs. Blake shook out her monkey-fur muff. Well, I shan't see Alice or your father. I doubt if I see anybody but you, dear 'paspe. I only came over to consult my lawyer. I expect to sail Saturday. The present rate of exchange makes it more convenient for me to live in Paris. Besides, you know, I don't like New York. . . . She paused for a moment. . . . I'm going to be married, 'paspe dearest.

Fannie!