iTwo Mistakes! ,f One Corrected the Other l> Returning from shopping, I opened tuy reticule to take out some samples " hen. to my surprise, I found entirely different contents from what I had ex pected. In short, I had laid my own reticule down on a counter and picked up one belonging to some one else. Among the articles I found inside was a slip of paper, on which was written: Dearest Little Mary—Meet me at the fountain tomorrow at 6 o’clock. I have Inaele all arrangements. We will be mar ried at the rectory and take the evening i lain for B. Don’t let your fears get the better of you. Remember, 5 o'clock sharp. 1 will be there half an hour earlier. If you think you had better come veiled carry violets. Tour loving J. Tuesday. Fifteen years before I had received just such a note. Indeed, there was something similar In the handwriting of the two missives. Them I had mar ried a man whom I had been obliged to leave before the honeymoon was over. A sudden thoughttstruck me. How would it do for me to keep this girl’s appointment a trlfle>ahend of time, im personate her, veiled and with violets? I could find out whether she was about to wreck her future or marry a true man. If the former, I might save her. At half past 4 I sallied forth, bought the violets of a street flower vender on Hie way and at a quarter to 5 entered the square. I knew well how to as sume a hesitating step, for 1 hud ’’been there” before. On nearing the foun tain. looking out for .7., 7 saw a man looking eagerly at the violets in my hand, but of an age more suitable to an elopement with me than a young girl. As 1 drew nearer something in Ills face and figure apiieared familiar to me. Then i stopped, overpowered with astonishment. No. I was not mistaken. He was the man who had been my husband. Fif teen years make a marked difference in one’s appearance, and they had •changed him more than they usually ■change men. 1 was now more than ever bent on playing the part. He Joined me, and In a whisper, as though I had Jost my voice through excitement. I said: "Take me where we can talk. I have something to say to you.” He replied that his auto was waiting on the street and led the way there. I got in the auto, and he ran it out of the town. “1 am not satisfied about this pre vious marriage of yours,” 7 said. ’’Croat heavens! Haven’t we gone over that sufficiently? You have heard my explanation, and the last time we met you expressed yourself entirely satisfied.” I uuu c use your myiug iuo umum on your wife. If we were to have trouble and separate I suppose you •would lay all the blame on me.” He turned to look at me as though taken aback at my words. He could mot see my face for my veil, but his •eyes were fixed on that as if they •would pierce it. •'You women are all alike.” he said presently. “We men no sooner stand you on your feet than you fall down again. Here at the last minute you are bringing up what 1 have been at such infinite pains to settle." "But, tell me. don’t you blame her?” “No. 1 don’t. 1 blame myself rather than her. A newly wedded pair are like two persons floating down a tortu ous channel full of rocks and snags. It Is the man’s part to keep his head and steer the boat. 1 supposed that honeymoons were always what the name implies. I found my wife a prey to nil sorts of temporary emo tions—one moment loving, the next ir ritable. the next hesitating, the next despondent. I should have known that this, at least to some temperaments, is a condition to be expected—a reaction upon realizing that one’s fate is Irrev ocably linked with another personali ty. Besides, she was very young. You are ten years older than she was at that time, and I confess I have looked to you for more steadiness. I am much disappointed.” "A woman of my age should have .more sense than to elope.” "You know the reason for that. If your father and mother had not an ab surd prejudice against your marrying a divorced man we might be married sensibly, as becomes our age.” “Your first marriage having been a case of elopement, I should suppose, considering that it resulted disastrous ly, you would not care to try it again.” “The elopement has nothing to do with either case. Two people elect to unite. The method of their doing so Is n mere matter of sentiment" There was a silence for a time—at least nothing but the chugging of the nuto. We were both thinking, he probably of the. fickleness of woman. J of how a trifle may turn the whole current of two lives. For years 1 had considered that 1 had married a brute. True, 1 had mourned that he had turn ed out to be such, but X had not doubt ed i hat my Interpretation of him was .correct. And now 1 found him accus ing himself of a want of tact in his -former treatment of me, his bride, and Joying no blame on me whatever. I believe that feelings may be con fevcil outward signs. I felt ---. .~. that bis heart was ritit In this second marriage. Possibly I may have judged by something in his tone, possibly by an absence of desire In his words. lie was too rational for a lover. 1 won dered if he were not bent on marriage to escape loneliness or to help him to bury a melancholy memory. I deter mined to apply a test. “You have been considering mo vac illating.” 1 said. “Now you seem to be undecided yourself. And I am not quite sure but you are right Suppose after we are married you should meet your former bride. Suppose she should admit that in a condition new to her. a very young girl, she had tried your patience severely: that she had mis taken you: that she deplored the break between you and her and would give years of her life to undo what she had done. You would then look upon your marriage with mo as a chain of slav ery.” He said nothing for some time. When he did his words thriled me: “Candor compels me to admit that I would." I leaned back on the cushion as though much disappointed. I am not sure, but I practiced the deception of a sigh Iffs mood was indicated by the speed he was driving the machine. I was tempted to tear off my veil and throw my arms about Ills neck. Hut I dared not. As his bride 1 had been a girl. Now I was approaching mid dle age. Another denouement to this singular freak of fate occurred to me. I would go with him to the church, then reveal myself. “Well.” I said, “it is time that we stop This backing and filling. 1 shall show you that I have more steadiness than you suppose. Come: turn about. Let us go to the rectory.” Without a word he turned his ma chine, and we were soon speeding in the opposite direction. Neither spoke for some time. I wondered of what he was thinking. Perhaps that lone liness which comes over u single man after he has passed the heyday of yontli would now be ended. Or was he thinking of his bride of fifteen years before? When we drew up at the rectory, before alighting he said: “There is yet time to reconsider this most important step in your life. If you have not perfect confidence in me I beg of you to withdraw before it is too late.” “If there is vacillation now it is in you. not in me." He got out of the auto, but not with the springy step of a groom. I knew he was swayed by two opposite cur rents. Whatever were his feelings, he would not recede from the position he bad taken. We were received by the rector, who had been expecting us for some time. He placed us before a mantel, took up his prayer book and waited for me to take off my veil. Slowly I unwound it and when removing the last fold turn ed and looked at the groom. He had not seen me since I was eighteen. Now I was thirty-three, but he knew me aj: once—that is. he kuew me ns soon ns he could recover from his astonishment. And the fact that his bride was the same as he had stood by years before rendered that as tonishment rather a confusion of ideas than a natural Impression. He stood luuKing ai mi, un/.ru. "Gwen!'' he exclaimed at last. With the two men looking at me, the one waiting to know what the scene meant, the other how I came to be there in place of the woman he expect ed. it was incumbent on me to make an explanation. 1 did so to the rector, telling him briefly the circumstances. When 1 had finished I turned to my groom, wondering what expression 1 would find there. I saw at once that he was eager to know what would be the outcome of this contretemps. Did it mean punishment, revenge, or would it lead to a reconciliation? I replied to the question asked by his eyes with my lips. I gave him a smile. With a profound sigh of relief he turned to the clergyman and said: “Proceed!” The rector seemed puzzled. Evi dently the situation flustered him; but. being in holy orders, with a church man’s antagonism toward marrying divorced people and a churchman’s pleasure in reuniting those who have been separated, he was not long in re covering his equanimity. He looked at me for my assent. But he looked In vain. I gave no assent. Neither did I express dissent. He looked to the groom for instructions and doubt less received them, for without fur ther delay he began the ceremony. Neither man was quite sure what would bo the outcome until the ques tion was asked me, “Will you take this man to be your wedded husband?” I hesitated for p. moment, then said firmly, “I will.” Both men gave a sigh of relief. And so it was that, while I was sep nrated for fifteen years from the man I loved and who loved me, by a sense less tiff, I was reunited to him by a marvelous coiucldence. Had not the woman he was to have made his sec ond wife put his note in her reticule and left it on a counter, had 1 not * taken it up by mistake, I would not have been in the nick of time in a po sition to take what belonged to me and appropriate it to myself. The reticule was hers; the man was mine. I never asked my husband how he explained matters to the woman With whom he had Intended to elope. I considered it none of my business. Moreover, I was not interested in It. But I did ask him if he did not sus pect thut the woman beside him In the auto was not the one he expected to meet. He told me that, while he did not suspect me, he felt that there was something in the situation foreign to what was Intended. My voice, he said, was the only real difficulty in the way of a perfect deception. 1 —--i JUGGLED BY BRIIS A Boy’s Remarkable Adventure With a Pet Bear. WHIRLED ABOUT LIKE A1TOY. After the Unique Performance * Wai Over Seventy-six Stitches In th< Lad’s Scalp and Rolls of Surgical Plaster on His Shins Saved Hia Life Ben was a pet black bear four years old and as good natured and friendly as If his ancestors had never had bad reputations. There Is only one occa slon on record, says his owner, Mr. William n. Wright, In his biography of Ben in “Black Bear," when even to appearances did Ben misbehave him self. ■i tie circumstances Deing examined, however, the animal came off with his good name virtually untouched. Ben had been left In hla shed as usual. Later In the day a crowd was seen about the door. I hurried home to And most of the women of the neigh borhood wringing their hands and call ing down all kinds of trouble on my head. At first I could make neither head nor tall of the clamor, but finally gath ered that that bloodthirsty, savage and unspeakable bear of mine had killed a boy, and upon asking to see the victim I was told that the remains had been taken to a neighbor's house and a doctor summoned. This was pretty serious news; but, knowing that whatever had happened Ben had not taken the offensive with out ample cause, 1 unchained him and put him in the cellar of my bouse, well out of harm's way, before looking fur ther Into the matter. Then I went over to the temporary morgue and found the corpse—It was one of the Urlln boys—sitting up on the kitchen floor, bolding a sort of impromptu re ception and, with the exception of Ben. the least excited of any one con cerned. 1 could not help admiring the young ster’s pluck, for he was an awful sight. From his feet to his knees his legs were lacerated, and his clothing was torn to shreds, and the top of his head —redder by far than ever nature had Intended—was covered with blood. As soon as I laid eyes on him I guessed what bad happened. It developed that the two Urlln boys bad broken open the door of the shed and gone In to wrestle with the bear. Ben was willing, as he always was, and a lively match was soon on. whereupon, seeing that the bear did not harm the two already in the room, another of the boys Joined In the scuf fle. Then one of them got on the bear’s back. This was a new one on Ben, but he took kindly to the idea and was soon galloping round the little room with his rider. Then another boy climbed on, and Ben carried the two of them at the same mad pace. Then the third boy got aboard, and round they all went, much to the delight of them selves and their cheering audience In cue doorway. But even Ben's muscles of steel had their limit of endurance, and after a tew circles of the room with the three riders be suddenly stopped and rolled aver on his back. And now an amazing thing happen ed. Of the three boys suddenly tum bled belter skelter from their seats one lappeued to fall upon the upturned laws of the bear, and Ben, who for pears had juggled rope balls, cord iticks and miniature logs. Instantly undertook to give an exhibition with ils new Implement Gathering the badly frightened boy nto position, the bear set him whlrl ng. His clothing from his shoe tops :o his knees was soon ripped to shreds tnd his legs torn and bleeding. His icalp was ldcerated by the sharp claws intll the blood came. His cries rose o shrieks and sank again to moans. 3ut the bear, unmoved, kept up the lerfect rhythm of his strokes. Finally the terrified lookers-on In the loorway, realizing that something bad o be done if their leader was not to >e twirled to death before their eyes, ore a rail from the fence and with a 'ew pokes in Ben’s side induced him 0 drop the boy, who was then dragged tut apparently more dead than alive. The doctor took Beventy-slx stitches n the lad's scalp and put rolls of sur real plaster on his shins. So square md true had Ben juggled him that not 1 scratch was found on his face or on my part of his body between the top if his bend and his knees. He even ually came out of the hospital no vorse for his ordeal, but 1 doubt If be ver again undertook to ride a bear. How 8ho Won Out. “Oh. George,” she cried in perplexed ones. “I’m afraid we must part" “Parti Why must we part, dear?” he choed. "On account of father,” she replied. He fears we would be mismated. We re so very different, he says.” “In what way are we so different?” le asked, with a show of dignity. “Well, father says I am of such a eady and willing disposition, while ou seem so—so backward, so reluc ant and hesitating, so—bo loath to ome to the—the point, don’t you now.” “He does, does he?” blustered George, racing up, and the very next after oon she was showing her girl friends iow stunning It looked on the third nger of her left hand.—Boston Herald. He that lives upon hope will die as ting.—Franklin. •' \ CANNIBALISM. It is tHi Religion of the Savages Who Practice It. In the course of his thirteen years as a missionary in the FIJI Islands the Rev. Joseph Nettleton learned a good deal about cannibalism nnd even saw some of his colleagues killed and eaten. "It Is a common mistake to think that these men eat human beings because of hunger.” he said. “Cannibalism Is their religion. The ovens In the temple where they cook their human sacrifices are never used for any other purpose X once witnessed the capture of a white victim. He was surrouuded. bound hand and foot and dragged along to the temple, where be was dashed with terrific force against the altar. Then he was pushed Inside the compound, while the chiefs arranged as to the division of the body and be gan a war dance. Their hideous war dnsee—the 'derana* they call It—makes one's flesh creep. An American sea cnptaln who once visited the Islands said he was not so much afraid of being eaten as he was of this dance. It took all the courage out of him.” Mr. Nettleton had to use extreme tact to avoid arousing suspicion among the savages. “My colleague, Mr. Ba ker, wus murdered, cooked and eaten with seven others while exploring,” be said. “The cannibals thought he was spying. 1 never carried a revolver. Why? Because the cannibals sny at once. 'He doesn't carry that to kill himself; therefore he means to kill us,' and they act accordingly.” The Rev. J. Calvert, another of Mr. Nettleton’s colleagues, had a narrow escape. He was surrounded by canni bals, and tt was decided that be should be killed. By a miracle his life was spared. “My friend pleaded till he wns bourse,” said Mr. Nettleton, “but it was of no avifll. Suddenly one of the cannibals remembered that Mr. Calvert bad doctored blm when he was ill. That saved my friend's life.”—Chicago News. DEMONIAC PLEASANTRY. Humorous Diversion of tho Roman gmperor Commodus. Professional barbers are said to have been Introduced Into Rome by Menas from Sicily, of which Island he was praetor In the days of Cicero. Under the empire their shops In some In stances became fashionable resorts at which every luxury of the toilet was enjoyed and the gossip and news of Rome and the empire were discussed. The means, luxury and weaknesses of personal adornment therein carried to excess are amply immortalized In the pages of Terence, Plautus. Horace. Juvenal and Martial. Other barber shops were more re tired, as we learn from the annals of the Emperor Commodus, who, having wearied at times of the wholesale trag edies of the Coliseum, wherein armies engaged In murder at his savage be hest, and being desirous of a little humorous diversion, used, like the caliph of Bagdad In the “Arabian Nights,” to disguise himself and sally forth, accompanied by two or more of his favorites, and, having hired a bar ber shop suitable for his purpose, would place one of his men at the door to solicit custom. Having secured a customer, the em peror barber would politely affix the towel and apply the lather, all the time keeping up a running' fire of the latest jests and little pleasantries until the customer nnd himself were almost over come with laughter. Then the keen edged razor would slip, and among regrets and proffers of assistance the noseless victim would be assisted to the rear of the shop, where between threats and bribes he was kept from making a riot until one or two more victims were added to the number and Commodus, weary of his demoniac pleasantry, was ready to return to the palace or to the arena.—Charles Win slow Hall In National Magazine. The Mails. When does a crime become punish able? When It Is committed by mall. The mall Is the most sacred thing known to the United States govern ment except Itself. Nothing but trea son surpasses in egregiousness the mis use of the malls. So far as the federal authorities are concerned, one may steal, gamble and murder so long as It Is not done by correspondence. Do ye whatsoever ye will one unto another, but do not write It down and stick a stamp on the upper right hand corner, for If ye do then In truth will all the demons of justice be unloosed upon your trail.—Life. startled the Native*. Herrara, the Spanish historian, say* that Plzarro when he landed In South America owed hla life and those of his companions to the fact that one of the party fell off his horse by accident The natives had succeeded In cutting off the retreat of the Spaniards to their ships, when one of the riders was thrown. The Indians were so as tonished at the dissolution of partner ship that they took flight at once. They had supposed horse and man to be one animal. An Inference. Kose—Why don’t you pop In and bave a game of bridge sometimes? Violet—Oh, well, you see—er—I’ve be come a bit of a recluse lately. Rose How much do you owe?—Illustrated Kits. Thriftless. “Did she marry the man who rescued her?" "Yes, and now she’s discovered that her life was the only thing he ever saved."—Detroit Free Press. " 11 " ii jmrn'mmwirr'Imtmmmm* iwnilHlfMli,»i>iu„^» i ; Mll. ilh rg i . < I Intellectual j | Courtship j | It Is a Very Different Affair | ^ From Simple Love. « I By EDITH B. ARNOLD. % Copyright, 1910, by American Press £ Association. Miss Margaret Lyall took all the de grees of the under and post graduate university courses. Bclug possessed of an independent income, it was not necessary for her to make a living, but she was so clever that the college sent her abroad to study for a professor ship. She returned with an additional foreign degree and assumed the cliulr for which she had been preparing her self. When Miss Professor Lyall was twenty-seven years old it occurred to her that after all sho would prefer to bo a wife and mother to growing old as a teacher. If sho were to choose the more natural course It was high time she were doing so. She was con sidered a very attractive woman and was comely. She had had a number of offers, but had not been thinking of marringe and for this reason had ac cepted none of them. Now, having determined to wed. she looked over the list of her suitors and settled on Boyal Richardson, a Journalist Mr. Richardson was editor In chief of a large newspaper. lie was a high ly educated and a forceful man. There Is no place In the world where exact ness, system and. above all. a quick resource are more essential than in the mnkeup of n daily newspaper. Mr. Richardson had a quiet, dignified way with him that carried great weight “That match,” every one said, “Is between one of nature’s highest type of men and the same grade of women. Such a couple united should produce important results for good. What a splendid spur the one for the other!' “No doll wife for me,” said Mr. Rich ardson. “Give me a woman with n brain In her head!” “If I am to be married,” said Miss Lyall. “1 prefer a man who is certainly not my inferior. If lie Is my superior I will follow his lead, for that Is a law of nature. If he should turn out to be of poorer judgment than I, then thut same law will compel him to submit to my de crees.” Two persons were especially disap pointed at this engagement One was Walter Fairbanks, a quiet, unobtru slve man several years younger than Miss Lyall. Not being highly educat ed himself—he had gone into business at seventeen—he hud a profound ad miration for Professor Lyall. It was the acme of his desires to have such a woman for his wife. It would be like an Intellectual beggar marry ing one with nn intellectual fortune. The other disappointed person was Miss Lucy Brooks, a girl of twenty, whose knowledge had been gained in a public school, but whose heart was as fresh as a rose and exhaled as much fragrance upon all who knew her. She had long worshiped Mr. Rlchnrdson from a distance, but considered him so far above her that It was madness for her to aspire to be his wife. No sooner had Professor Lynll be come engaged to Mr. Rlchnrdson thnn she began to take an interest In his paper She liked to pick out editorials in which she could see his vigorous opinions expressed In Ills terse, pun gent style. Rut one day she noticed what she hnd not discovered before. She was much Interested in the na tional problems of the day and sym pathized with every movement calcu lated to bring the trusts under a proper legal subjection. Mr. Richardson had given In his edltorlnls an impression that this was the policy of his paper But In an article which bore every evi dence of having been written by him he made use of the term "trust bust er.” The next time he met his tluncee she said to him: “Royal. I supposed the policy of your paper was to advocate the regulation of the trusts by law.” “My dear Margaret, the policy of a newspaper is an uuknown quantity to any one except its manager.” “Will you kindly explainV” Mr. Richardson for the moment for got that he was not In his editorial chair. It seemed an icicle rather than a sentence that came through his cold Ups. “Yes; 1 will explain by saying that 1 alone dictate the policy of my paper.” Miss Lyall looked at him with aston ishment. “And 1 alone," she said, “will decide as to the man I will mar ry. He shall not be one who would make use of the obnoxious expression ‘trust buster.’ ” She strode majestically out of the room and upstairs. Mr. Rlchnrdson departed with a com plication of feelings. lie was disap pointed, angered, hurt. For the Urst time he had been interfered with In his life work. His eyes were opened to the fact that the high grade of character, of intellect, he had wished in a wife had in this case at least proved a boomerang. If he had been called to account by another his feel ings would not hnve been the least ruf fled. Rut he had formed the very im portant plan of marrying Miss Lyall, and he saw that such a union would necessitate the rooting up of the main habit of his life. “Good morning. Mr. Richardson,” came a soft voice, and, looking aside us he walked, he met the amiable Bmlle of Miss Brooks. It was like a =a» „r- -ini—JLiB_— ; warm StitiShlne breaking through a > wintry cloud, fle turned and joined > her- For an hour he walked beside > her. listening to her prattle, scarcely > speaking himself, the girl all the while ; pouring balm on his perturbed feel » lags. He Went with her to her home, \ and It ,wa»«.notherdiour ■before be left. Miss Lyall Buffered the same per turbed sensatlons^rand as Mr. IUchard son had been comforted by mi«» Brooks she turned to Walter Fair banks for Blmllar treatment. If a person of strong mind becomes balked and consequently Irritated there Is a craving for somo one—not to rely on for advice, butto whet opinions upon. Miss Lyall made an excuse to send for Mr. Fairbanks In order that she might have a dummy to pound. Mr. Fairbanks proved himself admirably suited to the purpose. Not capable of understanding that higher role of ele vating by an unceasing flow of Infor mation which Is the great work of newspapers, he saw only the blemishes resting on the press. When Miss Lyall told him of her disagreement with Mr. Ulehardson he was surprised that she did not know that his paper was own ed by a combination of Industrial mug nates. This opened Miss Lyall's eyes not only to the fact of an entire ab sence of sympathy between her and the man who was employed to oppose . views she held very strongly, but that there was, after all, a comfort In com ing down with her aeroplane and hav ing a heart to heart talk on the earth’s surface with a man who knew what was going on there. But Mr. Ulehardson before any an nouncement was made of the break ing of the engagement concluded to mnke an effort to set matters right be tween him and his fiance. He called upon her, and she came down with a disappointed |ook on her face. “I have called to say. Margaret,” he began, "that perhaps you are not aware that a newspaper Is not exclusively a concern for dispensing noble Ideas. No ble Ideas there may be in It, but they would not be there at all If the paper had no means for Its publication. Un less a newspaper can be made to pay”— "Has that anything to do with pre tending to advocate Ideas and at the same time sneering at them?" “I don’t admit”— “What Is your definition of the term trust buster?" “A trust buster? Why, a trust buster Is one who advocates breaking up those combinations which are essential to business at the present day." “But I doa’t admit that they are essential.” your opinion can have nothing to do with the management of the paper 1 edit" “If the paper you edit Is the exponent of the principles, or, rather, the want of principles, of the man I am to marry It certainly Is of great importance to me.” “I am employed to carry out the policy laid down by the owners of the paper.” “Why. then, do you pretend to carry out opposing ideas?” "Margaret, a newspaper is a prac tical affair. It must have advertise ments; to secure advertisements it must have circulation; to have circu lation It must have readers. Headers are of various opinions. One must steer a middle course to”— "Enough! You, the man with whom 1 had decided to unite my very being, have no principles of your own”— “My principles are my own; the pa per’s principles are Its own.” "Then If you were paid to advocate anarchy and assassination you would do so without a qualm of conscience.” “Margaret,” be said, changing his tone to one of despondency, “if our union is to be one of argument instead of simple love it will be a failure.” “And unless I marry a man whose principles are not for sale it will be a failure.” “You are Impracticable.” "Goodby!" Mr. ltlchardson and Miss Lyall bad igain found themselves in the position >f those _— m a.__Li * j i.i_ a Thus beating up against the wind, though neither of them loved the tempest. They were obliged by their uuture to beat up against it. Agala they sought solace iu the sympathy of their intellectual Inferiors. Mr. Rich- j unison called on Miss Brooks, and M lss Lyall called in Walter Fairbanks. Richardson sat on a sofa beside the lithe, laughing girl, rested by her every Innocent word, by her every j dainty motion and more than all by that perpetual smile which hovered over her lips. She cared nothing for the policy of bis paper, and. as to bis principles, she did not for a moment doubt that they were noble. A lock of his hair fell down over his forehead, and with the touch of her waxen fin gers she put it back in place, laughing as she did so. He took the fingers in bis hand and kissed them. Then he kissed her. That settled it Miss Lyull talked to Walter Fair- j banks about her conversation with i Richardson. He listened to her with out a word, looking at her the while with a pair of sympathetic eyes. Whenever she said, “Am I right?” he . replied, “You are,” and when she said, “Am I wrong?” he said. “You are not" In other words. Miss Lyall got from Mr. Fairbanks what she wanted. And ! so in time she became accustomed to getting what she wanted and found It more convenient to place Mr. Fair banks where she could have him all i the time. She married him. Mr. Richardson and Miss Lyall meet occasionally and have intellectual talks. She considers him a brilliant ! man. but without principle. He con- | skiers her a very smart woman, but educated in a theoretic. Impractical school. Each is very happy at home.