“Fiddlesticks! He is nothing but a law clerk. Worse than that, he is a magazine writer.” “I thought you liked his essays and stories.” “So I do. But you don't want to associate with everybody you like that way. I am talking about society. You must draw the line somewhere. Oh, I forgot Fogg--Dr. LeRoy Fogg, from Pittsburg.” And down went the name of Fogg. “You mean that young swell whose business it is to drive a four-in-hand to Yonkers and back, and toot on a horn?” “Well, what of that? Everybody who is anybody, I mean all the girls, want to go on his coach.” “Oh, Lord! I'd rather go on the Elevated.” And Mavick laughed very heartily, for him. “Well, I'll make a compromise. You take Fogg and I'll take Burnett. He is in a good firm, he belongs to a first-rate club, he goes to the Hunts' and the Scammels', I hear of him in good places. Come.” “Well, if you make a point of it. I've nothing against him. But if you knew the feelings of a mother about her only daughter you would know, that you cannot be too careful.” When, several days after this conversation, Philip received his big invitation, gorgeously engraved on what he took to be a sublimated sort of wrapping-paper, he felt ashamed that he had doubted the sincere friendship and the goodness of heart of Mrs. Mavick. XV One morning in December, Philip was sent down to Mr. Mavick's office with some important papers. He was kept waiting a considerable time in the outer room where the clerks were at work. A couple of clerks at desks near the chair he occupied were evidently discussing some one and he overheard fragments of sentences--“Yes, that's he.” “Well, I guess the old man's got his match this time.” When he was admitted to the private office, he encountered coming out in the anteroom a man of striking appearance. For an instant they were face to face, and then bowed and passed on. The instant seemed to awaken some memory in Philip which greatly puzzled him.