SUNDAY EVENING
"What future, Archie?" said Mrs. Roche with curiosity.
"Oh, I don't know. Coming back, I suppose. I ought to be back in four years. I wonder where everybody will be."
" I shall be here, a little greyer-haired, perhaps, and stupid; several of my friends will have given up coming down to see me, including Fanny—who will be wherever William isn't. Laura will probably be married———"
"Oh?" said Laura consciously.
"—and you will come down once or twice, and be very retrospective and sweet, Archie, then drift away too. Perhaps you will bring the girl you are engaged to down to see me, and she will kiss you on the way home and say I am a dear old thing, and not be the least bit jealous any more. . . . I know I shall be very stupid some day; I can feel it coming down on me, like mist from the top of a mountain."
"Laura will often come and see you," consoled Mrs. McKenna, "and bring all the babies———"
"We must all write to Archie," interposed
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