"He turned pale. 'W--w--here did you get that from?' he stammered. "'What is this?' she repeated, and read in unsympathetic accents: 'Dearest, dearest, dearest. Remember the grotto.--POPSY.' "'Who is "dearest"?' she continued. "'You, of course,' he said with ghastly playfulness. [Illustration: _"Dearest, is you," he said with ghastly playfulness._] "'Indeed. Then allow me to say, sir, I _will_ remember the grotto. I shall never forget it, Popsy. If you wish to communicate with me, a penny postage stamp is, I believe, adequate. Perhaps I am also Anastasia, to say nothing of the dog. Or shall we say the 11-15 from Paddington, Popsy?' "'Sybil, darling,' he broke in piteously. 'Give me back that paper, you wouldn't understand.' "Sybil silently replaced the serpent in her bosom and leant back haughtily. "'I can explain all,' he cried wildly. "'I am listening,' Sybil said. "'The fact is--I--I----' The young man flushed and stammered. Sybil's pursed lips gave him no assistance. "'It may seem incredible--you will not believe it.' "Sybil made no sign. "'I--I--am the victim of a disease.' "Sybil stared scornfully. "'I--I--don't look at me like that, or I can't tell you. I--I--I didn't like to tell you before, but I always knew you would have to know some day. Perhaps it is better it has come out before our marriage. Listen!' "The young man leant over and breathed solemnly in her ear: '_I suffer from an hereditary tendency to advertise in the agony column_.' "Sybil made no reply. The train drew up at a station. Without a word Sybil left the carriage and rejoined her friends in the next compartment." "What an extraordinary excuse," exclaimed Lillie. "So Sybil thought," replied Wee Winnie. "From that day to this--almost a week--she has never spoken to him. And yet Guy persists in his explanation, even to me; which is so superfluous that I am almost inclined to believe in its truth. At any rate I will now read you his letter:-- "'DEAR SYBIL:-- "'Perhaps for the last time I address you thus, for if after reading this you still refuse to believe me, I shall not trespass upon your patience again. But for the sake of our past love I beg you to read what follows in a trusting spirit, and if not in a trusting spirit, at least to read it. It is the story of how my father became a baronet, and when you know that, you will perhaps learn to pity and to bear with me.