come from New York. The San Francisco papers would be full of that wedding, and St. Peter would be green with envy. And she would make him such a good wife; such a beauty she is and such a dear good girl--just the kind that wouldn't mind a man being haughty and overbearing. You two would murder each other--but Dolly! The more I think of it the more enthusiastic I am. We formed a plot last night, but as in a way he belongs to you, I maintained that you should be consulted. But tell me first--what do you think of it?" "Of the match? I cannot imagine a better. What is your plan?" "Last night Mrs. Colton had a bridge party, and I went over just as they were finishing hissing at one another over a spoon that cost seventy-five cents. After some of them had gone, the rest began to talk about Dolly and Mr. Gwynne--I don't think the town has talked about anything else since your party--except those everlasting cards, of course. Well, the upshot was that I suggested we should revive the old weekly dancing club. Otherwise they might not meet again for months, now that Mr. Gwynne has settled down to his studies and hasn't been near Rosewater since Monday. They agreed, but of course no one would offer her house; they are all too mean, and mine is too small. But we can hire the old hall, and all the men will be glad to subscribe--a few of us can make up the deficit. Dolly always looks her best at night--she has the loveliest neck!--and she would be glad of an excuse to get more party dresses. Well--you see! You can always sleep at my house." "What fun it will be to have a weekly dance! I am going out to Lumalitas this afternoon, and I will demand Mr. Gwynne's subscription." "Isabel! You are a jewel! Mrs. Haight was nasty, but I told her she did not know you the least little bit, that you were no dog in the manger. But, dear Isabel, do you think you ought to go out there alone? I don't mind; you know that I never bother my head about other people's affairs, but Mrs. Haight is such a gossip, and she never did like you, and all small places are so gossipy. She has been telling everybody that Mr. Gwynne rides past her house quite late at night from duck-shooting, and of course she assumes that you shoot with him." "I generally do. You may tell Mrs. Haight, with my compliments, to go to the devil! Still, dear Anabel, if you think it improper for me to call alone on a bachelor cousin, I will pick up somebody on my way out." "Do, that's a dear. And I shall tell Mrs. Haight that old Mac always goes shooting with you. I am sure that he does. Good-bye. I'll see about the hall this afternoon."