II.

It was a very preoccupied Andrews which entered the office of “Roberts and Andrews” the next morning, and more than once his partner asked, “What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing much,” was the invariable response.

Toward afternoon, Mr. Roberts came to him and said, “Andrews, my niece is coming here to visit us for a while. Can you suggest anything which would be nice for a young lady of twenty or twenty-one to do?”

“How’s yachting?”

“The very thing. Funny that we did not think about that. Diana is very fond of it, she writes. You have a yacht, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you call her?”

“The yacht’s name is _Diana_,” said Andrews, digging his paper-cutter into the blotter on his desk.

“Queer name that, for a yacht. If I wasn’t positive that I had not mentioned my niece’s name to you, I would swear that you christened your boat since I began talking to you. However, I will have to go back to the house for a while, as I left Diana’s picture at home and Jones wants to make a cut of it for tomorrow’s _Leader_. I’ll be back soon and will show it to you before I take it down.”

The senior partner left the office and Andrews laughed loud and long. “Positive that he hadn’t mentioned the young lady’s name to me, was he? Oh, that reminds me that I’ll have to get the name on the yacht changed.” He reached for the ’phone and after getting into communication with the man that took care of the boat for him, he said, “Say, strike off the name and put on _Diana_.”

Andrews had barely resumed work when Harris came in. “Hello, old man,” he said in response to Andrews’ greeting, “I dreamed about you last night.”

“The dickens you did,” replied Andrews, “I dreamed about _you_.”

“This is getting interesting. What did you dream?”

“I dreamed that I saw the most beautiful woman imaginable coming toward me with outstretched arms. Just as I was about to touch her she disappeared, and in her stead, I saw you. You had a hard, cynical sneer upon your face and you said to me, ‘She is beautiful, but is she good?’ Yes, she is beautiful, but she is not good.”

“By Jove, Andrews, my dream was almost exactly like yours. What can it mean?”

Walter shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said; “but I wish you hadn’t made such a fool statement.”

Roberts came in just then, and excusing himself, Harris left the office.

Walter went over to the old man’s desk and watched him as he slowly took out a large photograph from a mailing envelope. Andrews gave one glance at it, then with a shriek he flung the picture to the floor and sank into a chair pale as a sheet. Mr. Roberts looked at him in blank amazement.

“I am not feeling well,” he explained as he picked up his hat to go home.

The picture which his partner had shown him was a duplicate of the face he had seen in his dreams, and which, without doubt, was the same which his friend had seen.