" Why, he's coming on the 25th; you'll see him then," said Marian Fancourt.
"On the 25th?" St. George asked, vaguely.
"We dine with you; I hope you haven't forgotten. He's dining out," she added gaily to Paul Overt.
"Oh, bless me, yes; that's charming! And you're coming? My wife didn't tell me," St. George said to Paul, "Too many things—too many things!" he repeated.
"Too many people—too many people!" Paul exclaimed, giving ground before the penetration of an elbow.
"You oughtn't to say that; they all read you."
"Me? I should like to see them! Only two or three at most," the young man rejoined.
"Did you ever hear anything like that? he knows how good he is!" St. George exclaimed, laughing, to Miss Fancourt. "They read me, but that doesn't make me like them any better. Come away from them, come away!" And he led the way out of the exhibition.
"He's going to take me to the Park," the girl said, with elation, to Paul Overt, as they passed along the corridor which led to the street.
"Ah, does he go there?" Paul asked, wondering at the idea as a somewhat unexpected illustration of St. George's moeurs.
"It's a beautiful day; there will be a great crowd. We're going to look at the people, to look at types," the girl went on. "We shall sit under the trees; we shall walk by the Row."
"I go once a year, on business," said St. George, who had overheard Paul's question.
"Or with a country cousin, didn't you tell me? I'm the country cousin!" she went on, over her shoulder, to
