“Love affairs are dreadful things,” said Marion, trying to laugh it over. “I’m so glad that up to date I have never been affected.” “Oh, I’m not so sure,” said Miss Allyn, more gayly. “You were pretty sweet on Mr. Ray, and you may as well own it, and, by the way, is he coming back to this country ever?” she asked. “They are to sail next week, he and Adele,” was the answer, “but I shall be in the hospital then, so I suppose I can’t see them.” “Love will find the way,” quoted Miss Allyn, slyly. “You can trust that Mr. Ray to find you, Marion.” Dollie entered just then, evidently in a state of great excitement. “Oh, girls!” she screamed, half crying, “I’m just frightened to death. I’ve broken my hand glass into a thousand pieces.” “That means seven years of bad luck,” said Miss Allyn, laughing; “and a half a dollar to buy a new hand glass.” “Never mind, Dollie,” said Marion, who was not at all superstitious. “You’ll be earning six dollars a week after this, so it won’t take long to buy the new glass.” “Oh, but I’m to save every penny to buy my trousseau,” said Dollie, brightening. “You keep forgetting, Marion, that I’m going to be married.” “There is little danger of her forgetting it while you are around, Dimples,” said Miss Allyn, laughing. “You take pains to remind her of it every fifteen minutes.” “Here comes Mr. Colebrook,” was Dollie’s whispered reply. “Quick, come out in the kitchen with me, Marion, so we won’t interrupt the lovers.” “Nonsense!” cried Miss Allyn, as she darted toward the kitchen. “I’ll go out there myself and see if he misses me.” Dollie followed her into the kitchen of the little flat and closed the door softly, leaving Marion alone in their pretty parlor. “Oh, all alone, Miss Marlowe,” was Mr. Colebrook’s greeting. “Well, for once in my life I am deucedly lucky.” Marion looked up in surprise, but controlled her feelings wonderfully. It had popped into her head to test her friend’s lover a little. “Why do you think yourself lucky in finding me alone,” she asked, archly, as she went on arranging the furniture. “Because you are the sweetest girl that I ever met,” was the astonishing reply, “and I am lucky in having a chance to say so.” For a moment Marion could hardly believe her ears; then a great feeling of pity for Miss Allyn swept through her every fibre. Almost involuntarily she glanced toward the kitchen door, but it was tightly closed, so she breathed a little more freely. “Miss Marlowe—Marion,” cried Mr. Colebrook, suddenly, “have you no eyes to see how much I admire you? Why, I’ve been crazy with admiration ever since I met you. You are as beautiful as a saint, and I am desperately in love with you.” Poor Marion’s breath came with a little gasp now. It was almost impossible for a girl with her honest nature to grasp such a situation. Here was her best friend’s betrothed husband actually making love to her. He had the open assurance to tell her that he loved her.