Would my tongue never stop wagging? What manner of woman had I suddenly become? I did not recognize myself. Was it a case of self-hypnosis and was I really feeling the interest and friendliness I pretended? He was not precisely an Adonis; there was something rough, almost uncouth, about him in spite of the veneer his money had brought. But there was a kindliness, a wholesouledness that made itself felt. Under any other conditions I should have liked him.... I saw him look at his watch. "What time is it?... The performance will soon be over and Mr. Hartley will wonder where I am.... Wouldn't he be surprised to walk in here and see me dining with a strange man?... I hope you're not afraid of getting yourself talked about...." "No, I guess not," he laughed back. I was silent for a time, while I wrestled with the breast of a squab. I felt his eyes upon me. When I looked at him I saw that he was revolving something in his mind, and I sensed the subject. I gave him time to think it over. After a while I leaned back in my chair. "I'm sorry to confess it, but I'm beginning to feel a bit tired," I sighed. "Even your genial presence will not keep my eyes open much longer.... Edith I'm sure is feeling the strain, too. Well, we'll all sleep better to-night--after our worry. 'All's well that ends well'--and that reminds me--my husband and I were admiring a set of Shakespeare you have in your library." "Um--yes; I remember it. I bought it for the binding. Don't believe I ever saw the inside of it...." He freshened my glass of wine. "You're not much of a drinker, are you?" "Haven't got brains enough to stand it," I answered flippantly. He laughed; it had a true ring to it. The game was in my hands. "I guess you mean you've got brains enough to _with_stand it." Would the dinner never come to an end? I thought. My body seemed to grow old with the minutes. At last the waiter cleared the table. When he had gone for a liqueur, Mr. F. took some letters from his pocket. From the packet he selected a piece of printed matter. He laid it face down upon the table while he replaced the letters. Then he looked at me, drumming with his fingers over the spot where the clipping lay. The waiter returned. Mr. F. drained the cognac glass and called for another. While it was being brought he folded his arms upon the table and leaned toward me. "I wonder whether I'd better show you something...." I assumed the same attitude; it was conducive to confidence. "Show me what?" His drumming became louder. "No, I guess I won't!" ... "Now, I call that unkind--to pique my curiosity and leave me suspended in mid-air." He folded the clipping and rattled it between his fingers. "Is that what you were going to show me? Wait a moment." ... I leaned toward him to better examine the paper, then relaxed against the back of the chair and smiled. "I think I know what it is.... Will you lay me a wager? What will you wager that I can guess what that paper is the very first time?"