As to "The Inn of the Silver Moon," I can see no end to the lastingness of it: since in the very essence of it is that which holds humanity with an enduringly binding spell. The luring charm of a happy love-story--charged with gay fantasy and epigrammatic grace and gently pungent humour--is a charm perpetual and irresistible: that must hold and bind while ever the world goes happily in ever-fresh sunshine, and happily has in it ever-fresh young hearts. THOMAS A. JANVIER. NEW YORK, _June 20, 1909_. THE STORY OF IGNATIUS, THE ALMONER Though this happened at the Butler Penfields' garden party, the results concern Miss Mabel Dunbar more than any one else, except, perhaps, one other. Mabel had been invited, as she was invited everywhere, partly because she was a very pretty girl, and helped to make things go, and partly through public policy. "So long as the dear child remains unmarried," Mrs. Fessenden had said, "we must continue to buy our tea from her." For Mabel owed her amber draperies to the tea she sold and everybody bought because her grandmother had lived on Washington Square. In society, to speak of tea was to speak of Mabel Dunbar; to look in Mabel's deep brown eyes was to think of tea, and, incidentally, of cream and sugar. "I used to consider her clever," Mrs. Fessenden remarked, "until she became so popular with clever men.... It is really most discouraging.... See, there is Lena Livingston, who has read Dante, pretending to talk to her own brother-in-law, while Mabel, who is not even married, walks off with Archer Ferris and Horace Hopworthy, one on each side." "I do wonder what she talks to them about," speculated Mrs. Penfield, and Mrs. Fessenden replied: "My dear, you may depend, they do not let her talk." Mrs. Penfield reflected, while three backs, two broad and one slender and sinuous as a tea-plant, receded toward the shrubbery. "I wonder which one Mabel will come back with?" she said. "If Jack were here, he would give odds on Mr. Hopworthy," replied Jack's wife. "Of course, Mr. Hopworthy is the coming man," observed Mrs. Penfield. "But Mr. Ferris has 'arrived.'" "Yes," assented Mrs. Fessenden, "as Jack says, he has arrived and taken all the rooms.... But, then, I have great faith in Mr. Hopworthy. You know Jack's aunt discovered him." "Yes," said Mrs. Penfield, "I remember, but, Clara, it was you that introduced him." "Oh, that was nothing," murmured Clara. "We were very glad----" "My two best men!" sighed Mrs. Penfield, her eyes upon the shrubbery, where nothing now was to be seen. "Yes," acquiesced her friend, "but think how badly that last Ceylon turned out." Meanwhile, the three had found a cool retreat, an arbour sheltered from the sun and open to the air, wherein a rustic garden seat, a table and a chair extended cordial invitations. "Ah, this is just the place!" cried Archer Ferris. "By shoving this seat along a trifle, and putting this chair here, we can be very comfortable."