And truly it was a rare thing for careless, thoughtless Elinor Wylie to take interest in anything outside the fashionable circle which she denominated “our set.” Her life had been too carefully ordered for her to have much appreciation of the wretchedness beyond her gates. “And so you think I should allow you the luxury of an entirely new sensation,” said Mr. Wylie, with his habitual drawl. “All right. Be as benevolent as you choose, only be careful,” he continued, rising and beginning to draw on his gloves. Mrs. Wylie looked at him inquiringly. “I am going to keep an appointment with Colonel Fenton. By the way, Nellie, did I tell you, Doctor Lyman, the noted seer and spiritist, is coming next week to give a series of lectures in Garrett’s Hall? I think we’ll have to attend, will we not?” “Dr. Lyman? Oh, yes; Mrs. Wallace was telling me about him. Do you care to hear _him_?” asked Mrs. Wylie doubtfully. “Most assuredly, and so must you. People say he is remarkably interesting; and besides, it will never do to lose so good an opportunity to learn of the invisible world toward which we are fast hastening; eh, Nelly?” “But, Horace—” Little Mrs. Wylie hesitated and raised her blue eyes to his questioningly. “Well, my dear, I am the personification of devout attention; what will you have?” “I wonder—do you really believe he knows any more about the other world than any one else?” “Undoubtedly; a great deal more.” Mr. Wylie assumed a serio-comic air. “I don’t see why; but I mean, do you really believe he is right? Do you believe _they_ are right who believe in spirit manifestation and all that sort of thing?” “Do I believe in them who do believe? My dear girl, you are asking unanswerable questions. I believe in an infinite number of things or I believe in nothing. It is to find out just what I believe that I propose to attend Dr. Lyman’s lectures. I have listened to the preaching of orthodoxy from childhood; now, I will absorb a little heterodoxy and see if it is any more clear to the human comprehension. But I must be going. Is not that the fair lady again?” “Yes, and see, she has another and different-sized parcel. Poor thing, I wonder if it is hard work?” “I think I’ll go down on the street and get a nearer view of the fair unknown. It seems to me I have seen that face some time before this. It is probably a chance resemblance to some one I have known, that haunts me. Good-by.” And kissing his hand to his wife, Mr. Wylie left the room. “Talk of woman’s curiosity,” laughed Elinor to herself. “It does not compare with that of the sterner sex.” And she watched her husband cross Herald Street and walk down the avenue with more than his usual celerity. Then she touched a tiny bell, which was answered by a young girl from the adjoining room. “You may bring Robbie to me, Tibby. Mr. Wylie has gone away and I am at leisure to amuse him.”