Weekly Mail

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MILK-APPLES-OR- ? Hot water, hot milk, apples, and ma.ny other things have been recommended for people of feeble or impaired digestion. In this, however, personal equation must be taken into consideration, for that which would aid one might not agree with another. For instance, some stomachs would not tole- rate hot milk, whereas in other cases it will have precisely the effect desired, gently stimulating and strengthening the digestive organs. There is. however, one universal aid for weak or disordered digestion, which agrees with persons of all ages and both sexes. A Paige Woodcock Pill taken on retir- ing for a few nights will relieve the whole digestive machinery and quickly restore activity to all the processes of digestion, assimilation, secretion, and excretion. Page Woodcock's Pills are an ideal family remedy. They are pure—free from mineral or other injurious matter, a.nd economical. Sold at all chemists, at ls. 1. and 2>s. 9d„ I tliev have a reputation extending ovet sixty years for the cure of digestive borders. Have cured milli<)ns--will etir-e you. w2017 7

THE DIVOIICE BALL. COLONEL J. J. ASTOR'S UNIQUE ENTERTAINMENT. Colonel John Jacob Astor's recent divorce was made for ever memorable by the bril- liant entertainment which he gave the other night in his New ^crk mansion. It is dubbed "the divorce tall" by the press, because parallel with the record of the colonel's hospitality to 150 dancing, ban- queting, a.nd much-feted friends there is an account also printed of the application on behalf of Mrs. Astor, now in London, to make her divorce decree complete. It is only parvenus and snobs who give freak balls, and there was nothing sensa- tional about the Astor entertainment except tho date. Simplicity was the leading feature of the decorations, a.nd although the favours in the cotillon cost a cool £ 3,500, there was, according to the fashion reporters, nothing ridiculously extravagant. It is true the three orchestras were con- cealed under expensive bowers of plants and flowers and that buffets for refreshments were everywhere, but, says the veracious New York chronicler, the whole affair was probably covered by £8,COO, and that to Colonel Astor is a trifle light as a.ir. The mirror dance was great. Mirrors three feet long, with handles of satin wood deco- rated with streaming ribbons, were amongst the favours presented to the ladies, and these mirrors, flashing back tih-a lights of the ball- room fr jm all angles, provided a figure of dazzling brilliancy. Braas bells were one of the favours :ven the mem, and they were kept ringing p^errily until the time to go home.

LAUGH &GROW FAT! 4 HUMOROUS PARS FROM EVERYWHERE. Barber: Like your parting on the side, sir? Patron: Well, if you have no objection, I'd rather have it on my head. "What is the matter with your wife? I see she's got her hand in a sling." "Eeckless driving." "Horse?" "No, nail." "Mr. Grimes," said the preacher to the vestryman, "we had better take up the col- lection before the sermon this morning." "Indeed?" "Yes; I'm going to preach on the subjeat of economy." "Won't you take this seat?" said the gentleman in the oar, rising and lifting his hat. "No, thank you, said the girl with skates over her arm; "I've been roller-skating, and I'm tired of sitting down." Bob Footlite (actor): Failure? I should think it was! The whole play was ruined. She: Gracious! How was that ? Bob Footlite: Why, at the end of the last act a steam pipe burst and hissed me off the stage. We can't eat this steak; it's not good," complained a young man who was spending his honeymoon in a Scottish village. "Ye're surely jokin', sir," said the landlord of the inn. it maun surely be guid. It's a bit 0' the minister's auld coo!" "Well, I'm not that bad. I'd have you know that I yet have a great, deal of the milk of human kindness, even if* I don't look it." 'h-h-h, my boy! Don't mention it out aJoud. The county council inspector will He after you. and you'll have to sterilise it." Halloa, old ohap! Heard the latest about Brown?' No; what's that ?" Why, he had a terrible accident the other nignt. He had his brain wrecked." "< /yvT^ ?av'eris! How did it happen ?" Oh, ne let a train of thought run through it." A certain married man was in the habit of troubling his father-in-law with complaints about his wife's behaviour. "B^a,Uy,,Jthis is too bad!" cried the irascible old gentleman one day on hearing of some of his daughter's delinquencies. "If I hear any more complaints I will disinherit her. There were no more. laying chess with her hus- sn you know that to-day is my barthday ? Husband (abstractedly): Is it? 1 you Soing to give me anything as & birthday t ?" a11 a-bout it, Certainly, 1 I something, my dear. I'll let you take a pawn." J first-born' "dod 3,11 interesting mother to her ht' >ou know what the difference hiii i7 w £ °ry and soul? The soul, my c^' you with; the body toduohing the little fellcw,s ^11 know 'ttle fellow's shouldei' "but rLaner in Y^* there is something ^r>h T l-n .,Ca'n it now. What is it?" •r,tellteencJWillie- with a flash of shirt. eyes, that's my flannel ne*oJ^her^rrfU^ W!ae very unhappy because ulr nana ^ants had been denied. "Yon have her a lecture, and said: „ aiwi t thing that most little girls th.™ i, MOtW "Oh. W." said poX >°[' have ■*>'• 6"d "W.elL I g'uere 'Jae had a ride toO her grandma 8 Gentleman (to do~ ~T T „ SSe/iiVg tl? W" was broken inu> hou^f d<>?' MT Ser even backed.laet niffht' and d°E He^was^too1"busv' iSir' 1 QUrite believes yer. al tr. be aKl lo°hin' for the burglars, think of ^identify 'em toe^n 1" hevanute- Il€ ain't no common barkin dog. s a regular 'tective, an' worth ie weight in gold. b6 js_ ie weight in gold. be is. "Yes," said a ^tired insurance agent to his friend, "1 on,° got a man to take out a £ 10.000 life policy only the day before he was killed and it took a lot of coaxing to do it. • My rePlied the friend, "that was rough 0 c°nipany. I expect you wished your 6rve Powers had not been so suc- cessful? ?f0' Said the agent. "You see, I married the widow." Mtnr^whr"7 Very sw,eeit. and the elderly Jta wiTtfr-iwn. Was ^waiting tlie hostess in the .n1, benignly as children's tVii m i j? from somewhere below, joined Erin dlOUs drains of Come back to DesiTOus of hearing still more, she stepped ,n, r, „ u 0 °f the stairs and listened. 7e the melody, she discerned the "Si^- of a sma11 h<yy: .up' Sis! Sing up! One more turn o' mone J?1'" 11 do jt; but if yer don't make mu w ma'll hear the lock go click!" suddenly the singing stopped—the pantry doc,r had yielded. thi'nj? travelling conjurer had been making ,v t and disappear, and turning hie f„In rabbits with great dexterity at la-voimte pitch. »fthings were slack. Money was scarce, out groin'S' round with his hat he counted y.„ magnifk.'ent total of three halfpence, di^Tunei101^ the next thing to do was to disappear himself. nolicemtr,Was BIOTiTIS away, eyed by the u an<l <~ome urchins, one of the out • "IT" n°t l'cv'e the constable, oried Onlv \COnjur€r' how mu«h 'ave you got?" three halli>enee." answered the man, giz-,ng rL_Aljlv into the depths of his hat. .w •' gUv'nor," replied the youngster, "I'll twopence, if yer'll" turn that there policeman into a hacid drop." Meekley made up his mind that he was not gom.» to be dictated to any longer by his ,vl. ,C',so when he went home at noon he imperiously to the servant: "Laura.! Laura!" ^^kley came out of the kitchen. <l° you want with Laura?" she asked. Meekley staggered, but braced up. 'T want Jou ^understand, madam"—and he tapped his oreast dramatically—"that I am the engineer of this establishment, that I am °J' yoa are, are you? Well, Joseph, I want you understand that I"—and she looked dangerous—"I am the boiler that ™f*t blow up and pitch the engineer over into the next street. Do you hear the steam escaping, Joseph?" Joseph heard, and quickly got out of the way. The proud father, a young seaman, awk- wardly holding his first-born daughter, was visibly embarrassed under the scrutiny of the many eyes in the congregation, and his nervousness was not decreased by the sudden wailing of the infant as tliey stood at the font. When the time for the baptism of the ba,be arrived the bishop noticed that the father was holding the child so that its fat little legs pointed towards the font. "Turn her this way," he whispered, but the father was too disconcerted to hear or understand. "Turn her feet round," the bishop whis- pered again, but still there was no response. The situation was fast beooming critical, when an ancient mariner in the back of the church came to the rescue. Putting his weather-beaten hand to his mouth, he yelled out huskily: Head her up to the wind, Jack!" A man sat at lunch in the dining-room of a well-known hotel, when a bill-collector, having somehow eluded the attendants in the hall, walked up to him and laid on the table an overdue acoount. The diner glared at the acoount, his fork suspended in the air. Then, solemnly and indignantly, he handed the paper back to the oollector. How dare you," he said, infringe upon the rules of this establishment in this manner? Don't you know I can have you forcibly ejected for coming in hea-e thus? Now, I insist on your going out into the hall immediately, taking this bill with you, and that you send in your card by the attendants in the proper way." The collector, red in the faoe, but hopeful on the whole, complied. He retired to the hall, and sent in his card with all due formality. The debtor, eating steadily, received the card on a silver salver. He studied it gravely; then, turning to the waiter, he said: "Not at home." .1

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It began so pleasantly, that historic lun- cheon party, it ended so uncomfortably, and the sequel was so surprising that, though months have passed, I can recall all that befel as if it were yesterday. It was a Sun- day luncheon party, one of Mrs. Lee Norman's, she gave one almost every Sun- day when in Onslow Gardens, and it was a great privilege to be asked; the guests were chosen with discrimination from among her friends. People who were quite celebrated often angled for invitations in vain, a fact which flattered our vanity highly. As one of the select myself, I impressed upon young Bayfield as we walked there that May day, the high honour bestowed upon him. He was a new acquaintance, a journalist straight from Oxford, and his list of friends in Lon- don small. "She used to know my mother," he ex- plained. 'we met at Nice this winter, and she told me to call, when I settled in town. I called last week, she was out, but wrote and asked me to come to luncheon. "You'll meet some of the pleasantest people in London," I said enthusiastically .1 Art. literature, the stage; you'll find all worthily represented at her table. I expect Adams will be there for one. I hear he's back in town; the novelist, I mean." "That's splendid," the young man cried, "and her son. Captain Lee-Norman, the aeronautical expert, will he be there?" "No, he's tied to Aldershot at present, building the new airship." "Any pretty girls?" "You bet," was my colloquial response as we went up the steps. Punctually at half-past one we eat down at the table. Bayfield, thanks to his hos- tess's smiling speech of welcome, and the fact that pretty Miss Vera Sinclair-who achieved the double distinction of being a charming actress on the stage and a charm- ing gtrl off it—sat next him. was already on good terms with himself and his surround ings. let me briefly enumerate the guests that day: Of the other ladies there were the two Miss O'Brians, both clever artists; Mrs. Arbuthnot. a real merry widow, and Lady Fairford, the only plain woman of the party, 'out an amazingly fine talker when in the vein. Adams sat facing our hostess. Just turned forty, he ranked among the first six living writers of fiction. He was a big, burly ma.n with a smiling face, who laughed through life. Yet his own, as his intimates knew, had been a tragedy- His marriage had been more than a failure; it had been a disaster. Death had set him free, and we all suspected Mrs. Arbuthnot of hankering to marry him. Major Constant, the explorer, MacCrecdy, the medical attendant of most of us. young Sinclair, the actor, twin brother to Vera, Bayfield, and myself. At the very beginning Mrs. Arbuthnot and Adams started verbal sparring, and the lady flatly declined to sit next the novelist. Bay- field, on her left, had to change with her and relinquish his seat beside Vera Sinclair. Adams began a tirade on the custom of so arranging guests that the sexes were sepa- rated. "The ladies should always be put together at table," he declared: 'they're designed to be looked at. I'd like to see you ladies all in a row, like half-a-dozen extremely fascinating Aunt Sallies" hich my eyes can absorb and take in simultaneously." "Poor Mr. Adams, laughed the widow, "his similes get more and more wild as he en- deavours to avoid the obvious." "Good and new similes are hard to find," confessed Adams. That's the tragedy of the writer; failure to hit on a plot or a type never used before. What's the tragedy of an actress, Miss Vera?" "The fear of getting stout. If a woman can keep her figure she can play heroines at 63, like the great Sarah. I'm doomed to be fat at forty; it's hereditary. But I'll never play stage old women; I'll die first, or retire" "Then we must save your figure. Stop eat- ing that mayonnaise. Salmon is fattening." The lady did not respond; she was looKing towards the door which had just opened, admitting a soldierly-looking young man. Mrs. Lee-Norman rose with a cry of plea- sure. "My dear Adrian, what a pleasant sup. pris.e: you wrote you conldn't come." "My dear mother," the stalwart young man kissed her affectionately, "I thought I couldn't, but we're at a standstill unexpec- tedly, and my chief had to come down to town this morning and brought me in his motor. He dropped me at the corner. Ladies and gentlemen, your obedient servant, but it's a shame to disturb the symmetry of the party." He wandered round shaking hands and stopped finally between the younger Miss O'Brian and Adams, the latter insisting he should sit next him. Compton hastily laid a plate and brought a chair. "And when are you coming to my digs in Gordon Place in your airship?" asked the novelist. "My balcony is specially adapted for calls from aeronauts, I'll have you know." "Within two years," answered the soldier gravely, a.nd fell upon the plate of mayon- naise Compton brought him. Luncheon went with a swing. Adams in particular was good company. He not only talked brilliantly, but he inspired others to talk brilliantly: the ball of conversation never flagged; we ate and drank, talked, laughed, and listered; we were the merriest party in London that day. The meal was ending, dessert in progress, when a cry from Mrs. Arbuthnot drew general attention to our merry widow, "Oh," she exclaimed, "oh, look, we're—we're thir- teen at table!" A sudden hush followed her words, every- body looked and reckoned and saw it was so, but no one spoke for a moment. Perso- nally, though I deny I'm superstitious, I wished it hadn't happened. I believe I looked grave. I'm certain everyone else did. Then the men, including myself, began to speak, disclaiming any fear of consequences, but Adams with a commanding gesture silenced us. "Don't rise anyone. Forgive me, Mrs. Lee- Norman, let me arrange this. The supersti- tion is that the first of the thirteen who rises from the table dies before the year is out. Let's show how false that is. Here am I in the prime of life, here are two lusty young fellows younger than I," his hands shot out taking an arm of Lee-Norman and an arm of Bayfield, "we'll rise together defy- ing fate and see what happens. Up, Guards I I think Mrs. Norman cried "Adrian, please don't," but at the novelist's last word the three men rose simultaneously, laughing in the faces of the rest of us. But the ladies looked frightened. Then with more or less effort we all began to talk and laugh at once. Mrs. Lee-Norman led the way into the drawing-room, and Oompton served coffee, but a shadow had fallen on the party; in vain Adams told a funny story. It fell flat. Conversation languished, and with one accord we hastened to take leave; never had one of the famous luncheon parties broken up so early and so awkwardly. Four months later, on a glorious September afternoon, I sat in my rooms ringing up the "Daily Herald," as I had a friend on the staff, and with some trouble I got connec- tion. "Any news of the 'Oudenarde'?" I asked. There was none, I was told. Hope died in my heart. Bayfield must be dead. Six days had passed since the torpedo boat in which he was a passenger had left Great Yarmouth. A storm rose that night, and one of her boats and some wreckage were washed ashore at Oaister next day. After a while, feeling disinclined for work, I decided to go and call on Mrs. I-ee-Norman, who had recently returned to London. At the corner of the street I ran across Miss Sinclair bound on a similar errand. Together we discussed young Bayfield's fate, ignoring the incident of the thirteenth luncheon party, but it was very present in our minds all the same. Oompton admitted us into the drawing- room, and returned with a message that if we didn't mind waiting, Mrs. Lee-Norman, at present engaged with her dressmaker, would be with us in a very few minutes. But before she arrived we were joined by Her- bert Sinclair. 'Ha^e you heard the news?" he asked excitedly. "Adams is dead." I snatched the evening paper he held from his hands. "Death of a famous novelist. Mr. Percival Adams, the well-known English novelist, who has for some time past been staying at the Hotel du President, Trouville, died suddenly last night.—Beuter." died suddenly last night.-lieuter." We were still staring at each other, dumbly absorbing the news when Mrs. Lee- Norman entered. She burst into tears when I read the paragraph to her. "Adrian will die, too," she cried; "I feel sure of it. He was the real thirteenth" "Dear Mrs. Lee-Norman," cried Vera, tears of sympathy in her eyes, don't, please don't, anticipate the worst." "Listen," said the widow, unheeding her, "some disaster has happened. I hear a news- boy. They are trying the airship this week. Adrian is dead." The raucous voice of a perambulating news- vendor wailing" 'Orrible disaster, epechul," was disturbing the peace of Onalow Gardens.1 I rushed into the hall and gave Compton1 half-a-crown. Buy all the boy's papers," I said, "quiet him somehow." I knew the worst had occurred from the man's white face when he came back three minutes later. Yes, sir, the captain's dead, he and the colonel; oh, my poor mistress!" In the stop press column I read: Press Association Telegram. The new military airship with Colonel Hooper in charge, and Captain Ivee-Norman acting as mechanician, which left the works at noon to-day, fouled a lofty oak near Farnham an hour later and was completely wrecked; the occupants were flung violently out; Captain Lee-Norman was killed on the spot, and Colonel Hooper, picked up badly injured, died half an hour later. With reluctant feet I re-entered the draw- ing-room. Mrs. Lee-Norman, her comely face haggard, sat on the sofa convulsively holding Vera Sinclair's hands; dumbly her eyes asked the inevitable question. It was cruel to ten her the truth, equally cruel to withhold it; I felt like a butcher. I'm sorry to say there's a report-" my halting words died on my lips, the unhappy lady sprang to her feet. Adrian, my son, my son!" The wail of a woman mourn- ing her only child rang out in the very modern, very luxurious d rawing-room. She fell heavily into Vera's arms. She's fainted, no, let her lie; a. cushion, Herbert." I ran to the telephone and called up Mac- Creedy. By great good luck he was in, and five minutes later, for he lived close by, in attendance. But there was little to do. The bereaved mother lay on the sofa feebly moan- ing for her son; it was a oaæ beyond the whole College of Surgeons. The three of them," I groaned, "all dead." MacCreedy, striding up and down the room pulling his whiskers and muttering to him- self, turned savagely on me, Eh, what's that ?" "There's a telegram from Trouville; Adams died there last night, and Bayfield went down in the Oudenarde; there's no hope now that any of the crew have n saved. You remember how the three of them rose from the table together tha.t time we were thirteen at lunch." "Bah!" cried MacCreedy; "as for that. What the devil do you want now, Comp- ton?" If you please, sir, it's a telegram for the mistress." What inspired me I don't know, but I took it off the salver and tore it open. Hurrah!" I shouted. "Mrs. Lee-Xorman, it's from Adrian. He's alive. He's alive. Listen Any reports of my death either in the newspapers or otherwise, are entirely un- authorised by me, and may be totally dis- regarded. I've broken two ribs and sprained mv wrist, but nothing worse. Was picked up senselt's5, hence the earlier rumour which I fear may have reached you. Come to the hospital to cheer me up. Adrian." "Good old Adrian!" shouted Herbert Sin- clair, and catching his sister round the waist, waltzed her round the room. Mr?. Lee-Norman sat holding the precious telegram and crying softly, but they were tears of joy. You keep still for ten minutes," ordered MacCreedy, and I'll take you down to Aldershot myself. Now, you," this was to me, what do you mean by say- ing Bayfield is drowned? Where's that evening paper. Here we are, :1, telegram from Stockholm. Five members of the crew of the Oudenarde, including Mr. Bayfield, a jour- nalist. were brought into port by the steamer Sophia. Western early this morning. The captain reports colliding and running down the torpedo boat in the night of the 9th inst. The rest of the crew were drowned." Go on," I said feebly, tell me next dear old Adams isn't dead." The older I grow the less incliped I feel to dogmatise on any subjects. Regarding poor Adams, however, my lips are umealed and I c,an give a very simple and prosiac reason for his death. He's been a doomed man this last twelvemonth. He wa.s jesting with death that Sunday. He knew he couldn't outlive the year. And I think he was glad. I believe, knowing him as I do, he welcomed death. And now. dear lady, that you're calmer, you may go and put your hat on a.nd we'll take a taxi to Aldershot."

-> ONLY BILL. "Mother dear, what does it matter? It's only Bill!" and Gertrude tossed her pretty, saucy head with the airs of a spoilt young beauty. I "Yes. dear; but poor Bill can get us badly soaked as anybody else oat in the rain; and he is very down-hearted as it is. You did not break the news to him very kindly, either, considering what has passed between ou in the old days!" "0, Mummy, I was such a silly little kid when I thought of Bill! And really I never promised anything; only he was always there to fetch and carry and make himself useful. But to compare him for one moment with Algernon-why, even Bill couldn't help see- ing that it was impossible!" Mrs. North sighed a little to herself. Ger- trude was her only daughter, and very dear to her; but she had been somewhat spoiled by her brothers and friends, for she was a rather charming little lady, and exacted homage as a natural right. Her small flir- tations had begun in the nursery, where "Bill" had ranked as first favourite for long. He was the Squire's son, and was not "only Bill" in those days. But familiarity has a fashion of breeding contempt, and as Bill did not grow up dashing or enterprising, but wa.s content to live on the land and look after the farm and the property first for his father, and then as its owner, Gertrude began to turn up her pretty nose at him; and though always ready to let him fetch a.nd carry and a&t as her knight-errant or slave when there was nobody better on I hand. she made no bones of sending him to the right-about when she had more attrac- tive admirers about her; for he was only Bill, and she could have him back at any time by just lifting a finger! But Miss Gerty liked adoration, and had often let Bill express himself in somewhat emphatic terms. During the past winter, when she had been a little out of health a.nd spirits, for the brothers had all been away, and the weather extra chill and dreary, Bill's daily visits, and his offering of fruit and flowers, sweetmeats, and books, had been very welcome, and she had certainly acted in a fashion which bad aroused his hopes. Then in the spring had come an invitation to London. Mother and daughter had spent three months there, Gerty had enjoyed a little success of her own, and had come home engaged to a certain Algernon Bell, a man who wrote poetry, had the reputation of being a genius, and possessed an income sufficient to maintain a wife in ease and comfort That very day he was coming down with a small party of friends to stay with them for a week-end visit Bill had come in to see Mrs. North and her daughter, and in a rather off-hand manner Gerty had displayed her ring, a.nd told the story of her engage- ment. 'Jfhen she had despatched Bill to the town to hurry up a dress that she wanted to wear the next evening,, when they gave a little party, and Bill was told that he must come to be introduced, and to watch her act with Algernon a little duologue, which he had written for drawing-room performers. He had gone uncomplainingly, through a downpour of summer rain, and Mrs. North had seen him go with a little sigh. "It was not only ae a little kid, my dear, that you encouraged Bill's hopes. He is a, very kind, dear fellow. I only trust that Algernon will make you as good a husband!" Gertrude laughed and sped upstairs to put the finishing touches to a ma<?s of white tulle and chiffon which was to be her acting frock for to-morrow. She knew that she looked bewitching in it, and was determined that Bill should be there to witness her triumph. He had not been very keen about coming; but she had left him no choice. And when Bill once passed his word, he always kept it. That was one comfort about him. It was immen>ely exciting to have Algernon 1 down to eee her home. He was charm- ing the first evening, but slightly bored the next day when Gerty wanted to braye the elements and show him round. Between (showers seemed delightful to her, for the sun ehone a.nd the raindrops glistened, and the thirsty flowers seemed to revel and glow before her eyes. She thought her poet would revel too, but he did not. It was a new experience to Miss Gerty to do what she disliked in order to please a.nd keep in good humour somebody else. However, the afternoon wore avay, friends arrived for the dinner party—the largest one of the kind that Gerty remembered giving— her dress looked charming; Bill had sent the loveliest roses, and she meant to have a delightful evening, ending with a triumph when she and Algernon should give the dramatic duologue. Dinner was a disappointment to her; for 1 the superbly dressed American lady sitting on Algernon's other side claimed acquaint- ance with him, having met him abroad, a.nd the two talked together almost exclusively of people, places, and experiences of which Gerty knew nothing, and she felt more like j an ignorant little country mouse than ever in her life before. Bill sat opposite, and she began to wish she had not refused to have him on her other eide. Once or twice she tossed him a little arch nod or smile, and she sa.w him flush up with pleasure as she did so, and found her- self raying more than once: "Though he is only Bill, poor dear fellow, he is quite nice-looking, and taller than a.ny- body else in the room. I wish Algernon was a little taller. It is the only fault I have to find with him." Before the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner Gerty had slipped away to her room to make the necessary change of dress; for the dinner had been a long affair, and the hour was approaching for the little play to be given in the big library so rarely U6ed now. Algernon had no change of dress to make—evening drees wae the right thing for the piece. She found him awaiting her in the little study leading from the library, with a rather bored expression ou hie .face. a rather bored expression on hie face. "What a time you have been, Gerty; the evening will be over before we've done. Your other gown would have done just as well- what a mountain of frippery you have on nowl" "AIgy, dear, you gave me the picture to copy—you said it must be all billowy whiiht and floa,ting-like this. You did, indeed!" Oh, well, come along, then. It'll do a8 right. And, for goodness' sake, remember all the things I've told you, and don't smirk at flounce, but be dignified a.nd appealing at QD8 and the same time. Did you notice MiaI Upton at dinner? That's a manner I should like you to imitate—perfection I call it." Whereupon Gerty instantly lost confidence in herself, and went on the stage feeling email and snubbed. She did her very utmoet to recover her assurance and do piece credit; but she was almost sure by the way he acted and the look on hi6 face that she was not succeeding. And the footlights dazzled her unaccustomed eyes, and her dress oeemed unmanageable and awkward—and bow it happened nobody could tell; but as she made a sudden recoil and rush in the critical moment of the piece some floating end of drapery drove across an unguarded light, and the next moment a shriek of horror and terror went up from the whole company, for Gerty was all one mass of fire. The girl's own shriek rent the air; eItIe made a despairing rush at her partner—"Alcy -Algy-save me—help me!" Then in a moment she felt herself enveloped in the folds of some extinguishing drapery. She was thrown upon the ground, she was half suffocated—-choked, blinded, dazed, and terrified. For a moment the firs seemed burning her all over and her shrieks fought for expression, even as she tried to fight the strong, enveloping arms which wrapped her round and rolled her to and fro. Then out of the darkness and suffocation a voice detached itself—whose voice was it? "All right, all right, Gerty; don't be frigh- tened. Lie still just a minute longer. You're all safe. It's over now. Just a moment. There—here we all are. A fine flare up you made for us. You poor little soul—are yola much hurt?" Not Algernon; but only Bill' Her mother and some of the servants were crowding about her, and a. doctor who had been present at the time. No Algernon—she looked round in vain for him,'and when she was carried off to bed, and her superficial burns dressed, so tha.t the smart was quickly allayed, she heard how Algernon had been much upset, and had been invited by the Masons (whose guest Miss Upton was) to return wiVh them, since the household was all in confusion. "And has he --one, mother?" "Yes, dear—he has gone. He will come a.n4 see you to-morrow. "And he ran away from me when I was on fi re Mother did I see WTcmg ?-or did he run?" "He ran away. dear; but Bill leaped over the footlights with the big window curtain that he had torn down nobody knows how in the time; and so the fire was put out directly —thank God." Suddenly Gerty tore from her hand the diamond hoop she was wearing-and flung it against the wall. "Write to Algernon and tcll him not to come. I don't want to see him ever again, mother. Tell him please! I hate him!" Next morning as Gerty lay on a couch, in her little morning room, a knock came at the door. "Who's there?" "Only Bill," answered a dear familiar voice. He came in, one arm in a sling, the other holding a mass of exquisite roses. Gerty, her own face like a roee, held out appealing arms to him. "0 Bill, dear. dear Bill !c.a,n you ever for- give me? I have been such a little beast to you?" His kindly honest face was all in a glow; he came and took her in his arms and held her fast. She nestled against his faithful heart, and a great restful contentment filled her own. "Billy, you haven't said that you forgive me yet ? "1 don't know what I've to forgive, my dar- ling." "0 yeo; you do-don't pretend. All/ the horrid things I've said and done-" He put his hand upon her lips and then kissed them once more. "I can't have my private property abused! besides, come to think of it, that's all right. It's only your affianced husband who counts in the least; the ether wretched creature whom you justly treated with contempti well, he was—only Bill."

WEALTHY BRIDES NEEDED. MODERN MAN'S VIEWS OX MATBI- I MONY. "Young men of the present day have no self-reepect. They do not look for beauty, but for money, when they seek a wife," said M. Vassalieff, a millionaire bachelor, of St. Petersburg, who has left his fortune to assist beautiful girls to obtain husbands. The beautiful girl who is poor. contrary, to the traditions of the pa-st, is now, it appears, passed over and condemned to spinsterhood in favour of the less attractive maiden with a substantial banking account. Not only in St. Petersburg does this state of affairs obtain, a pressman was informed but, on similar grounds, the same un- desirable reputation, is being acquired by Englishmen. Englishmen are content to be purchased by uninteresting young women of wealth. so that they may live in luxury without having to work. "The young man of the day is a fortune- hunter." said a well-known author. "This is particularly noticcable in London. Every London club is full of young men whose ages probably range from 25 to 30 years, and who are looking forward to settling down with rich wives. Possibly, their parents allow tihem, or they have inherited, an income of about £ 300 or £ 400 a year, which lifts them above the positive need of making any special exertion.. "Their one idea is to find a wife with money; love does not enter at all into their scheme of life. They are callous and calcu- lating, and would not, like the ordinary healthy-minded Englishman, fall in love and marry any girl merely because she was pretty and lovable. Their one cry is, on making the acquaintance of an eligible girl, 'What has she got?' The.-s callous, calculating men are abso- lutely without ambition. All their care is that they shall have enough money for their own special amusement whilst bachelors, and that some woman shall be unearjied who can provide them, when married, with all the luxuries of life without any effort on their own part." A barrister who goes much int-o London society quite agreed with this point of view. Fifteen years ago, if a young man at a dance were asked if he v.-ould like to be introduced to a girl, he would say: May I look at her?' or 'Is she pretty? Can she dance?' Now he says: "What has she got?' "The old idea that a gentleman is a man who does not work is still in force in certain circles in this country. In fact, I think it has been arrowing stronger again just lately. The young Englishman of the day wants money for his luxuries. So did the young man of twenty years ago. The difference is this: Twenty years ago he was willing to work for it. The last thing he did was to depend on a woman!

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us. and, so far as I know, the only thing worth having was that document. We want it, and by God," he wound up, "we've got to have it!" Do you imagine," the girl asked, without change of countenance, that you will find it here?" I will tell you what I do imagine," Hefferom answered. Men don't commit murder for nothing. Your brother tried to steal that paper, or, rather, he did steal it. The game's up now. He's no opportunity to make use of it, and it belongs to us. It belongs to us, and we've come for it. There, now you know the truth. We've come for it, and we've come to stop until we get it." Rowan raised himself a little in his seat. Hefferom," he said, "it's no use talking like that. I haven't got it. I'll be frank, frank as you have been. I know no more than you do who has got it. I quarrelled with Sinclair, and he got suspicious. We fought in his room, and the result you know, but I was arrested before I left the hotel. Everyone knows that. The paper-I never had it-I never even safw it. Where it is now God only knows. I don't." Rowan fell back in his chair, coughing violently. For several moments he was in-1 capable of speech. Winifred knelt by his side. When he had finished coughing, she held a wineglass to his lips and made him sip its contents. He lay back now as though completely exhausted. She turned to face these unwelcome visitors. You see," she cried, pointing to him, a l'ittle more of this and you will kill him. Go away, both of you. He has nothing to tell you." Hefferom laughed a little brutaily. Come," he said, this game won't do. We are here for the truth, not to be put off with these fairy tales. It is the truth we want, and the truth we'll have, or I'll wring it out of him even if it kiHs him." Rowan's eyes were closed. He showed-no sign of having heard. Winifred stood up boldly before him. Y'ou are fools," she paid. He has told you all he knows. If Sinclair ever had the deed you speak of, he parted with it to some- one else, not to my brother." "Someone else?" Hefferom repeated. Do you take us for fools ? If he parted with that deed, he parted with it for a fortune. Where's the money? Show us the deed or the money, and we are satisfied. Show us neither, and Tt,s the truth we want, and the truth we'll have." I we'll not leave this plaoe until he hae spoken." A step upon t'he sfoingfe behind suddenly diverted their attention. The eyes of every one of them were fixed upon the tall figure who was walking swiftly up the slope. They had been so engrossed that they had not even heard the sound of the motor-oar which was standing there, splashed with mud, and with its engine still panting. With his glasses in his hand and his long grey coat thrown open, Stirling Deane strode up to them. "Come," he said, it seems to me that I have arrived opportunely. What does this mean? Who are these people? Miss Sinclair, is this man your companion? What does he mean by speaking in such a tone to a dying man?" No one answered him. Hefferom stood as though turned to stone, but his eyes never left Deane's. CHAPTER XXVIII. Ruby Sinclair leaned forward and touched her companion's back as they flew through the village of Eakeney. LQOk," she said. You see that cottage we are just passing? Tha,t is where I have lived for the last few years." Hefferom followed her aut,stretohed finger. He saw the little grove of bare trees and the marshland stretching out beyond- to the bare sea. Winter and summer?" he asked. "Winter and summer?" she answeretd. T/e> nodded. "About time you went fortune-hunting!" he said. No other word passed between them uij-til they reached the railway station. They descended from the oar, and watched it almost immediately swing round and dis- appear. So this is the end of our little excursion to Eakeney," Ruby remarked. "Yes." Hefferom. answered. Aren't you satisfied?" Why should I be?" she asked. What have we gained?" Hefferom drew a long breath. "Ah, I forgot!" he said, "You don t under- stand." He drew her into the refreshment-room. She declined to drink, but she sat in a. corner while lie disposed of several whiskies and sodas. At first he would say nothing, and she waited. Presently he began. "You think," he said, "that I was a I coward because, when Delane bundled us off in his car and told the ma.n to drive us to I the nearest railway station, I did not protest. You think that I should have made a scene there. It wasn't worth while. Deane's, coming gave the whole game away. Don't I you really understand?" I "Not a word," she answered. Listen," lie said. Stirling Deane is the man* who is supposed to be the owner of the Little Anna Gold Mine, which was really your "Uncle Sinclair's." She looked at him with gleaming eyes. Say that again," she said. "I don't quite understand." The deed which is missing from your Uncle Sinclair's effects," Hefferom said slowly, is the title idec-d to the Little Anna Gold Mine. That mine was illegally take possession of by Stirling Deane. He sold it to the company of which he is now presi- dent at an enormous price. He is the man with whom your TJnole Sinclair came to Eng- land to tiwt. Sinclair was murdered. By whom? By E.cwan. Who was at the back of Eowan/1 Whose tool was he? We know! Chance this afternoon made everything clear to us. Oan't you see that Eowan killed your uncle and stole that deed to save Stirling Deane from ruin—at his bidding, as his accomplice?" It takes my breath away," the girl mur- mured. Now I think of it, of course, it' is Deane's cottage they are in. He was there himself only a few weeks ago. It was through him that we heard of my uncle's murder." The whole thing's as simple as A B C," Hefferom declared. "Oan't you see tha.t Deane has given himself into our hands? Of course, Rowan stole the deed. Of course, Deane has it. He will have to pay for our silence. By God! he will have to pay!" The girl looked up from her seat on the leathern couch, looked at her companion long and critically. ( Do you think," she said, that we can hold our own against a man like Stirling Deane?" It depends upon the card.s," he answered, and they are in our hand-. We must go back to London. We must wait till he is at his office. Then I will see him. You can leavo the tiling in my hands now. I shall know how to approach him. He cannot deny his friendship with the Eowane. They are ¡ occupying, even at this moment, his own cot- tage. Very likely I shall be a,ble to disc-over other things connecting him with them. The newspapers you showed rre spoke of great influenoe which was brought to bear on the granting of the reprieve. We may find that. Stirling Deane was at the back of that. Any- how. he is connected closely enough with them. I a.m here, ready to swear that when Sinclair left Africa he left it with the origi- nal title deed of the Little Anne, Gold Mine in hie pocket. I think that the friendship between his murderer a/nd Stirling Deane, (,wibio sold tha.t mine for close upon a million. pounds, is a thing that will need a little explanation." And in the meantime," the girl said bitterly, we are starving." Not quite," he amswered. We have thirty-eight shillings. That will take us back to London, and find us rooms somewhere for the night. We must scra.p on somehow until I can get to Deane's offices." You are not forgetting," the girl re- marked, that the thirty-eight shillings you are speaking of is my property?" We are partners," Hefferom declared. You shall carry the purse if you like, but there is no object in it." You seem to be doing fooet of the spend- ing," she reminded him. If you think that we can afford it," she added, glancing at his empty glasses. I should like a cup of tea." He ordered it at once and sat down by her side. Look here," he said, "I don't see what you want to be so blooming stand-off for. Times are a bit rough with us just now, but you mark my word, we shall put through all right. This man Deane is in the hollow of our hands. He has been Eowan's accomplice. No one who knows the facts could possibly doubt it. A word from us would ruin him." The girl sighed. She had drawn a little away from the man. Do you believe, then," she asked, that Mr. Deane has the derd?" Either that, or it is destroyed," Hefferom answered. "But don't bother about that. Whether the deed is still existing or not, we know enough to make it worth his while to buy us, even though it costs him half his fortune." In the meantime," the girl said, please get the tickets. The train will be in in a few minutes." Oome with me," he said, suspiciously. Eemember, we're partners." "Oh! we are partners right enough," she answered, rising and following him out of the place. You needn't be a,fra;id that I am going to let you go. Just now you are jall t-hiat stands between me and a return to Eakeney." On the way up to town he began to build castles. He was optimistic, samguine in the extreme. The girl listened almost stolidly. Her companion had begun to depress her. He was badly dressed, his linen was soiled, his imitation jewellery was hideous. He sat opposite to her in the train, and there were things in his face from which she shrank. She was more than thankful that they were not alone. Are you tired, or what?" he asked at last, a little sullenly. "Surely, I made it all plain enough? You don't doubt that there's money in this for us?" There should be," she admitted slowly. And yet Yet what ?" he asked. I have seen Mr. Deane before," she said, hesitatingly. I have talked with him once hesitatingly. I have talked with him once or twice. Somehow or other, when I think that it may come to be a struggle between you and him-" He interrupted her with a brazen laugh. You think I won't be able to stand up against him!" he exclaimed. "Well, you shall see. There's a good deal in holding the cards, you know." I You haven't the deed," she reminded him. — —— I don't want it," he answered. "I am not afraid of Stirling Deane. I have known him a good many years, and he knows me. We are up aguin-st one another now, and you may fancy his chances, but I tell you my book's aga/inst the wall and his isn't. He's there fighting in the open. I've got him, I tell yougot him!" She half closed her eyes. This was not the way in which she had hoped to come into her fortune. In her heart she could not believe a word he said. Deane was a, strong man. Hefferom, she was already beginning to discover, was nothing but a buTty and a craven. If it came to a duel between the two, she found it easier to believe that Jlefferom would be worsted. At King's Cross Station they parted. Hefferom, a. little sulkily, aocepted his dis- missal, and parted with ha,lf of the money which he had. You can go where you choose," she -id- You can come back to Mrs. To'Wsley's' If you like, but I tell you frankly that, except while we are on business, I think it better that we should .stay apart." I can't see why," he muttered. For one thing," she said, we might be taken for adventurers. I do not know MIX41 about the law, but it seems to me yon won t, be very far out of its clutches when your negotiations with Mr. Deane begin." I can take care of myself," he answered. gruffly. "Can I see you back to the old lady's, anyhow?" "No!" she answered. I would rather go alone." Come and have one drink in the refresh- ment-room, justt to wish ourselves luck," he begged. She went in with him and drank a cup of coffee. He had two liqueurs, and would have had more, but she dragged him sharply away. Remember," she said, that I have nothing more I can raise money on. These few shillings are all we have. If Mr. Deane does not return for several days, we must leave." He laughed definantly. "Deane will come back," he said. HI let him have thing's his own way to-day, but he knows just where he is. Mark my words, he will be at the office to-morrow morning, and he will be there expecting to see me." (To be continued.)