"Did she say whom I am to marry?" Fanny Price asked, smiling, as she spoke, at Royal. "But, Melanchthon, surely you do not believe in these things?" said Sylvia gravely. "Of course he does not," Loftus exclaimed. "He does not believe in anything. Do you, Orr?" "I believe in a great many things," the lawyer replied. "I have precisely three hundred and sixty-five beliefs--one for every day in the year." "When the twenty-ninth of February comes around how do you manage then?" said Fanny. "Yes," said Annandale, "and how about April first?" Orr raised a finger. "Jest if you will. But beliefs are a great comfort, or would be among people like you who have none except in fashion, and there is the oddity of it, for belief in this sort of thing is very fashionable now, particularly in London. Yes, indeed, Lady Cloden--you remember her, she was Clara Hastings--well, she went to a spook in Tottenham Court Road, and the spook told her that she would have twins. Immediately she had herself insured. In London, you know, you can be insured against anything. The twins appeared and she got £5,000. Belief in this sort of thing is therefore not merely fashionable but convenient." In the ripple of laughter which followed the logic, Orr turned to Mrs. Loftus, Annandale to Miss Waldron, Loftus to Fanny Price. "You take very kindly to snubbing, don't you?" said the latter. "I?" "Oh, pooh! The other day I saw Mr. Royal Loftus trying to scrape acquaintance with a young person in the street. I never laughed more in my life. She would not look at you. Is that sort of thing amusing? Why don't you take a girl of your size?" Loftus looked into Fanny's eyes. "If you want to know, because you are all so deuced prim." "Ah!" and Fanny made a tantalizing little face, showing, as she did so, the point of her tongue. "Now tell me, what makes you think so?" Across the table Annandale was talking to Sylvia Waldron. His manner was rather earnest, but his utterance had become a trifle thick. "Oh, Arthur," the girl at last interrupted him. "Don't drink any more. You have had five glasses of champagne already." Heroically Annandale put his glass down. "Since you wish it, I won't. But it does not hurt me. I can stand anything." "I am afraid it may grow on you." Annandale laughed. "Grow on me," he repeated. "I like that. Why, I am cultivating it." Miss Waldron laughed too. "Yes, but you know you must not. I won't let you." Then at once, with that tact which was part of her, she changed the subject. "Doesn't Fanny look well tonight?" "Very. She is the prettiest girl in New York. But you are the best and the dearest. What is more, you are an angel." "To you I want to try to be." "Only," resumed Annandale with a spark of the wit which is born of champagne, "don't try to be a saint--it is a step backward." "Yes, Mrs. Loftus," Orr was saying, "Miranda is fat, very fat. All mediums are. The fatter they are the more confidence you may have."