Mr. Langham was consulted about everything. And it was to him that Maud Darling took Meredith's letter asking for accommodations.

"We've only two rooms left," she said, "and such nice people have come, or are coming, that it would be an awful pity if we had the bad luck to fill up with two men that weren't nice. Did you ever hear of a Colonel Meredith?"

"Is that his letter? May I look?"

Mr. Langham read the letter through very carefully. Then he said, looking at her over the tops of his thick glasses:

"I don't know if you know it, but I have made quite a study of handwritings. The writer of this letter is a gentleman—a Southern gentleman, if I am not mistaken. Accepting this premise, we may assume that his friend Mr. Robert Middleton Jonstone is also a Southern gentleman. Middleton, in fact, is pure South Carolinian."

"But if they are from South Carolina, wouldn't our terms stagger them? I've always understood that Southern gentlemen lost all their money in the war."

"Nevertheless," said Mr. Langham, "this is the writing of a rich man."

"How can you know that?"

"I tell you that I have made a study of handwriting. It is also the writing of a horse-loving, war-loving, much-travelled man—in the late twenties."

"You will tell me next that he is about five feet ten inches tall, has blue eyes, and is handsome as an angel."

"You take the words out of my mouth, Miss Maud."

"Tell me more." She was laughing now.

"He is very handsome, but not as angels are—his eyes are too bold and roving. If he wasn't a good man he would be a very bad man. There was a time, even, when strong drink appealed to him. He is quixotically brave and generous. And I should by all means advise you to let him have his accommodations."

"I can never tell when you are joking."

"I was never more serious in my life. Shall I tell you something else that I have deduced?"

"Please."

"Well, then, he isn't married, Miss Maud, and he is a great catch!"

Miss Maud blushed a trifle.

"I don't know if you know it," she said, "but I have made a profound study of palmistry. Will you lend me your hand a moment?"

"Very willingly. And I don't care if some one were to see us."

She studied his palm with great sternness.

"I read here," she said, "with regret, that you are an outrageous flirt. It seems also that you are something of a fraud."

"One more calumny," exclaimed Mr. Langham, "and I withdraw my hand with a gesture of supreme indignation."

But she held him very tightly by the fingers.

"And this little line," she cried, "tells me that you have known Colonel Meredith intimately for years and that you never studied handwriting in all your born days."

Mr. Langham began to chuckle all over.

"The next time," he said, "that people tell me you are easily imposed on, I shall deny it."

"You do know him?"

He blinked and nodded like a wise owl.

"Shall I write or telegraph?"

"You will use your own judgment."

So she did both. She wrote out a telegram and sent it to Carrytown in the Streak. And she tried to picture in her mind a young man who should look like an angel if his eyes weren't too bold and roving.

Her sisters and her brother all proclaimed that Maud was a really sensible person. But none of them knew how really sensible she was.

She was, for instance, more interested in Colonel Meredith than in his cousin Mr. Jonstone, and for the simple reason that she knew the one to be rich and handsome and knew nothing whatever about the other.

---