might have been justified in crediting her with egotism instead of modesty.
Selecting the brightest and crispest from the layer of bank notes, she laid them on the table. De Bosky's eyes glistened.
"The city has recently been flooded with counterfeit fives and tens, madam," he said politely. This afforded an excuse for holding the bills to the light for examination.
"Now, don't tell me they're phoney," said Mrs. Dulaney, bristling. "I got 'em this morning from the squarest chap I've ever had in my—"
"I have every reason to believe they are genuine," said he, concealing his exultation behind a patronizing smile. He had discovered the tell-tale marks on both bills. Carefully folding them, he stuck them into his waistcoat pocket. "You may expect me tomorrow, madam,—unless, of course, destiny should shape another end for me in the meantime. One never can tell, you know. I may be dead, or your comfortable house may be burned to the ground. It is—"
"For the Lord's sake, don't make a crack like that," she cried vehemently. "It's bad luck to talk about fire."
"In any event," said he jauntily, "you have my five dollars. Au revoir, madam. Auf wiedersehn!" He buttoned Mr. Bramble's ulster close about his throat and gravely bowed himself out into the falling night.
In the meantime, Mr. Bramble had substituted two unmarked bills for those remaining in the possession of
