this."

"Done. I will write her exact language here on this piece of paper and
then we will exchange copy."

Harrington sat pleasantly amused, yet puzzled, while Dryden wrote and
folded the paper. Then he proffered his note-book with nervous
alacrity. "Read aloud until you come to the place," he said jauntily.

Dryden scanned for a moment the memoranda, then looked up. "It is all
here at the beginning, just as she prophesied," he said, with a
promptness which was almost radiant, and he read as follows: "The dual
funeral of Miss Josephine Ward, the leading society girl, and Richard
Upton, the well-known club man, took place this morning at--" He
paused and said: "Read now what you have there."

Harrington flushed, then scowled, but from perplexity. He was seeking
enlightenment before he proceeded further, so he unfolded the paper
with a deliberation unusual to him, which afforded time to Dryden to
remark with clear precision:

"Those were her very words."

Harrington read aloud: "'Look at that man; he is taking notes. Oh, he
will describe them in his newspaper as a leading society girl and a
well-known club man, and they will turn in their graves. If you love
me, stop it.'"

There was a brief pause. The reporter pondered, visibly chagrined and
disappointed. The silence was broken by Dryden. "Do you not