“What sequel do you see to this story, Miss Strange? I can tell the past, I leave you to picture the future.”
Rising, she let her eye travel from face to face till it rested on the one awaiting it, when she answered dreamily:
“If some morning in the news column there should appear an account of the ancient and historic home of the Van Broecklyns having burned to the ground in the night, the whole country would mourn, and the city feel defrauded of one of its treasures. But there are five persons who would see in it the sequel which you ask for.”
When this happened, as it did happen, some few weeks later, the astonishing discovery was made that no insurance had been put upon this house. Why was it that after such a loss Mr. Van Broecklyn seemed to renew his youth? It was a constant source of comment among his friends.
END OF PROBLEM VIII [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]
PROBLEM IX. VIOLET’S OWN
“It has been too much for you?”
“I am afraid so.”
It was Roger Upjohn who had asked the question; it was Violet who answered. They had withdrawn from a crowd of dancers to a balcony, half-shaded, half open to the moon,—a balcony made, it would seem, for just such stolen interviews between waltzes.
Now, as it happened, Roger’s face was in the shadow, but Violet’s in the full light. Very sweet it looked, very ethereal, but also a little wan. He noticed this and impetuously cried: