"Do you know, Mollie," said Miriam, slowly, "I think you are in love?"
"Ah! do you really? Well, Miriam, you used to spae fortunes for a living. Look into my palm now, and tell me who is the unhappy man."
"Is this artist you speak of handsome and young?"
"Handsome and young, and tolerably rich, and remarkably clever. Is it he?"
"I think it is."
Mollie smiled softly, and looked into the glowing mask of coals.
"You forget I refused him, Miriam."
"Bah! a girl's caprice. If you discovered he was your mysterious husband, would you blow out his brains and your own?"
"No," said Mollie, coolly. "I would much rather live with Hugh Ingelow than die with him. Handsome Hugh." Her eyes softened and grew humid. "You are right, Miriam. You can spae fortunes, I see. I do like Hugh, dearly. But he is not the man."
"No? Are you sure?"