"That's a story. Of course it's no business of mine. But you do seem so happy, and I think that sharing other people's happiness is almost as good as being happy yourself--don't you? But I'm awfully sorry I asked." Miss Parkins' air of contrition melted Madge's mood. As she adjusted her veil, she condescended to explain. "I have had rather a stroke of luck." "I'm awfully glad to hear it. Of course I know you think nothing of me; but I think no end of you. I do hope that some one has left you a fortune." "I like it as well as if some one had, though I daresay you'll think it's nothing. I've sold a book." "A book? Oh!--one of your own writing? I knew you were clever. When is it coming out?" "We've hardly got so far as dates." "When it does come, I'll buy a dozen and pay for them, if you'll give me one with your name inside." "I'll give you the one without there being the necessity for your buying the dozen." "I knew you'd say that. I know you don't think I'm good enough to buy your book. But I don't mind. I hope it will be a success." "That's very kind of you." "And it will be, I'm sure of it. You're the sort that does succeed." "How do you make that out?" "I don't know exactly--but you are. You've got the air of success about you. I noticed it when first I spoke to you. And when people have got the air of success, you'll generally find that they get the thing itself." "You student of the world!" She stooped and kissed the girl. It was the first familiarity they had exchanged. Miss Parkins put her arms about her neck and kissed her in return--a half quizzical something in her eyes. "You mark my word--you're the sort that does succeed!" Madge walked home with an added feeling of elation. She laughed at the girl's pretension to what almost amounted to prophetic insight--yet wondered if there might not be something in what she said. At any rate it was nice to be believed in, even by Miss Parkins. She felt that she had done the young woman an injustice. A publican's daughter, after all, is flesh and blood. If the book succeeded, should opportunity offer, she would place it upon public record that Clara Parkins had foretold its success--which would be fame for Clara. She smiled at her own conceit. The possibility that she might one day become an important person only loomed on the horizon since the advent of that note in the morning. Immersed in such thoughts, almost unwittingly she arrived at Clover Cottage. Inserting her latchkey in the keyhole, she turned and opened the door. Almost as soon as she did so, it was thrust violently back on her, and banged in her face. She was so startled that, for a second or two, she stared at the closed door as if in doubt as to what had really happened. She had been, in imagination, so far away that it required positive effort on her part to bring herself back to earth. "Well," she muttered, below her breath, "that's cool. I wonder who did that. Perhaps it was the wind."