“I met him on the Subway a couple of days before I left New York. You know how crowded the Subway is at the rush hour. I had a seat, of course, but this poor little fellow—_so_ good-looking, my dear! he reminded me of the pictures of Lord Byron—was hanging from a strap and being jerked about till I thought his poor little arms would be wrenched out of their sockets. And he looked so unhappy, as though he had some secret sorrow. I offered him my seat, but he wouldn’t take it. A couple of stations later, however, the man next to me got out and he sat down and we got into conversation. There wasn’t time to talk much. I told him I had been down-town fetching an elephant-gun which I had left to be mended. He was so prettily interested when I showed him the mechanism. We got along famously. But—oh, well, it was just another case of ships that pass in the night—I’m afraid I’ve been boring you.” “Oh, Jane! You haven’t! You see ... you see, I’m in love myself.” “I had an idea you were,” said her friend looking at her critically. “You’ve been refusing your oats the last few days, and that’s a sure sign. Is he that fellow that’s always around with you and who looks like a parrot?” “Bream Mortimer? Good gracious, no!” cried Billie indignantly. “As if I should fall in love with Bream!” “When I was out in British East Africa,” said Miss Hubbard, “I had a bird that was the living image of Bream Mortimer. I taught him to whistle ‘Annie Laurie’ and to ask for his supper in three native dialects. Eventually he died of the pip, poor fellow. Well, if it isn’t Bream Mortimer, who is it?” “His name is Marlowe. He’s tall and handsome and very strong-looking. He reminds me of a Greek god.” “Ugh!” said Miss Hubbard. “Jane, we’re engaged.” “No!” said the huntress, interested. “When can I meet him?” “I’ll introduce you to-morrow I’m so happy.” “That’s fine!” “And yet, somehow,” said Billie, plaiting her hair, “do you ever have presentiments? I can’t get rid of an awful feeling that something’s going to happen to spoil everything.” “What could spoil everything?” “Well, I think him so wonderful, you know. Suppose he were to do anything to blur the image I have formed of him.” “Oh, he won’t. You said he was one of those strong men, didn’t you? They always run true to form. They never do anything except be strong.” Billie looked meditatively at her reflection in the glass. “You know I thought I was in love once before, Jane.” “Yes?” “We were going to be married and I had actually gone to the church. And I waited and waited and he didn’t come; and what do you think had happened?” “What?” “His mother had stolen his trousers.” Jane Hubbard laughed heartily. “It’s nothing to laugh at,” said Billie seriously “It was a tragedy. I had always thought him romantic, and when this happened the scales seemed to fall from my eyes. I saw that I had made a mistake.” “And you broke off the engagement?” “Of course!”