Campbell: “_There’s_ a respectable butter-ball over in the corner by the window there. You’d better go and speak to her. She’s got a gingham bundle, like a cook’s, in her lap, and she keeps looking about in a fidgety way, as if she expected somebody. I guess that’s your woman, Roberts. Better not let her give you the slip. You’ll never hear the last of it from Agnes if you do. And who’ll get our dinner to-night?” Roberts, looking over at the woman in the corner, with growing conviction; “She does answer to the description.” Campbell: “Yes, and she looks tired of waiting. If I know anything of that woman’s character, Roberts, she thinks she’s been trifled with, and she’s not going to stay to be made a fool of any longer.” Roberts, getting to his feet: “Do you think so? What makes you think so? Would you go and speak to her?” Campbell: “I don’t know. She seems to be looking this way. Perhaps she thinks she recognizes _you_, as she never saw you before.” Roberts: “There can’t be any harm in asking her? She does seem to be looking this way.” Campbell: “Pretty blackly, too. I guess she’s lost faith in you. It wouldn’t be any use to speak to her now, Roberts.” Roberts: “I don’t know. I’m afraid I’d better. I must. How would you introduce the matter, Willis?” Campbell: “Oh, I wouldn’t undertake to say! I must leave that entirely to you.” Roberts: “Do you think I’d better go at it boldly, and ask her if she’s the one; or--or--approach it more gradually?” Campbell: “With a few remarks about the weather, or the last novel, or a little society gossip? Oh, decidedly.” Roberts: “Oh, come, now, Willis! What would you advise? You must see it’s very embarrassing.” Campbell: “Not the least embarrassing. Simplest thing in the world!” The Colored Man who calls the Trains, coming and going as before: “Cars for Newton, Newtonville, West Newton, Auburndale, Riverside, Wellesley Hills, Wellesley, Natick, and South Framingham. Express to Newton. Track No. 5.” Campbell: “Ah, she’s off! She’s going to take the wrong train. She’s gathering her traps together, Roberts!” Roberts: “I’ll go and speak to her.” He makes a sudden dash for the woman in the corner. Campbell takes up his magazine, and watches him over the top of it, as he stops before the woman, in a confidential attitude. In a moment she rises, and with a dumb show of offence gathers up her belongings and marches past Roberts to the door, with an angry glance backward at him over her shoulder. He returns crestfallen to Campbell. Campbell, looking up from his magazine, in affected surprise: “Where’s your cook? You don’t mean to say she was the wrong woman?” Roberts, gloomily: “She wasn’t the right one.” Campbell: “How do you know? What did you say to her?” Roberts: “I asked her if she had an appointment to meet a gentleman here.” Campbell: “You _did_? And what did she say?” Roberts: “She said ‘No!’ very sharply. She seemed to take it in dudgeon; she fired up.”