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I had not. Her driver gathered the reins and I drew back.

"I suppose we might call him a romanticist," said I, "might we not?"

"Yes, madam, between Melpomene and Terpsichore."

"Read the address on your despatch," said Gholson, resuming his pen.

Her eyes flashed round upon me like stars themselves. "Not--Venus?" she whispered, snatched in her breath, bit her lip, and half averting her face, shot me through with both "twinklers" at once. Then she took a long look at the planets and suddenly exclaimed with a scandalized air--

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