Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. ‘And then vanished into thin air,’ rejoined Hilary on a sardonic note. " "Pshaw!" said Wild. She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so.
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