“Well?” mockingly from Phyllis.

“It was my last quarter.  It was very pathetic.  I had to walk four miles down town.  I did not know your uncle well enough or I should have borrowed carfare from him.”

“And I took your last penny?” said Phyllis, gently.  “Why did you not tell me then?”

“I was twenty-two and proud,” said I.  “Where are you going?” for she had risen.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, as she left the room.  When she returned she put out her hand.  On the palm lay two bright American dimes.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“The change.”

“Very good!” laughed Pembroke.

I said nothing, but took out my wallet.  In opening it to put in the dimes, something fell to the floor.  It was Gretchen’s rose.

“What is that?” asked Phyllis, as I stooped to pick it up.

“It is the end of a story,” I answered.  I busied myself with the fire till the poker grew too hot.

“How many romances commonplace wallets contain?” said Pembroke, sententiously.

“I have two in mine,” said I.

Pembroke looked at Phyllis, but the fire seemed to be claiming her attention.  Then he looked at me, but I was gazing at Phyllis.  He was in a puzzle.

“Do you know, Miss Landors,” he said, “that I never dreamed to meet you again when I saw you in Vienna last year?”

“Vienna?” said she.  “I have never been to Vienna.”

I suddenly brought down my heel on Pembroke’s toes.

“Ah, a curious mistake on my part.  I suppose the ball at the ministry to-night will be your first on the continent?”

I gazed admiringly at him.  He had not even looked at me.  He was certainly clever.

“Yes,” said Phyllis, “and already I believe I am going to have what they call stage fright, though I cannot understand why I should feel that way.”

“Possibly it’s a premonition,” said I, absently.

“And of what?” asked Phyllis.

“How should I know?” said I, mysteriously.

“What in the world is going on?” she demanded.  “You step on Mr. Pembroke’s toes, you prophesy, and then you grow mysterious.”

My glance and Pembroke’s met.  He burst out laughing.  A possible contretemps was averted by the approach of Mrs. Wentworth, who asked us to have a cup of chocolate before we went out into the chill air.  Finally we rose to make our departure.  While Pembroke was bidding Ethel a good morning, Phyllis spoke to me.

“The last flowers you sent me were roses,” she said softly.

“Were they?” said I.  “I had forgotten.  Shall I send you some for this evening?”

It was something in her eyes that I did not understand.

“Thank you, but Mr. Pembroke has promised to do that.”  And then she added:  “So you have really had two romances?”

“Yes,” said I; “and both ended badly.”

“Let us hope that the third will be of happier termination,” she smiled.  The smile caused me some uneasiness.