“I am a model at the Art Institute. I pose in the nude, and I thank God I am an honorable woman, and, in spite of all the years of suffering, I am still devoted to the man who taught me to love. With thanks for your inquiry, I beg to sign for this once, “Your wife, “NORA.” TALE ELEVEN. A STORY OF SUICIDE BRIDGE. “Age cannot love destroy, But perfidy can blast the flower, Even when in most unwary hour, It blooms in Fancy’s bower. Age cannot love destroy, But perfidy can rend the shrine In which its vermeil splendors shine.” It was a blustering winter day and a heavy snow was falling, making the streets exceedingly disagreeable to traverse. State street was crowded with shoppers evidently bent on taking advantage of the annual clearing sale which always takes place at the beginning of the new year. I was elbowing my way through the crowd on the east side of the street, about as uncomfortable as a man could be, when I passed Kehoe’s. I had not gone a dozen steps when it occurred to me that a cup of hot chocolate would taste good. I turned abruptly and encountered an umbrella, which flashed dangerously close to my eyes. Somewhat confused, I entered the door behind a woman. She had pushed the door open and dropped her skirts directly in front of me. It was too late for me to catch myself and in less time than it takes to tell it, I had stepped on them. The suddenness with which she let that door swing back was appalling. It took me squarely on the nose, a fact which I do not now regret, inasmuch as it led to a very pleasant acquaintance. She glanced around to learn the cause of all the trouble and accepted my humble apologies with good grace, and seemed to feel sorry when she saw her carelessness was the cause of a great deal of suffering, for I could not well disguise the fact as the tears ran down my cheeks. All the tables but one were taken and that was a small one in the corner, at which there were two chairs. She made her way to it quickly and when she saw me waiting she sent the waitress to me to tell me to come to her table. I bowed in response and crossed the room. “I feel that I owe you some consideration for the unfortunate occurrence of a few moments ago,” she said, “and I hope you’ll accept my apologies in turn.” I replied that it was my own stupidity and assured her that I already began to feel it was rather a fortunate than unfortunate occurrence. She smiled, yet at the same time drew herself up with a quiet dignity that was unmistakable, and I knew I had taken the wrong tack when I made my gallant speech.