"Please tell me what her name is," said Marjorie.
The boy stood still for a moment, biting his lips, and then he said slowly;—"Do you want her real name—or her pet name?"
"A pet name!" exclaimed Marjorie, "for a person who rules people like an idiotic tyrant! Tell me both names."
"Well, her pet name is Luck;—but her real name is—"
"What?" asked Marjorie, eagerly.
"Superstition," said the boy.
"O-o-oh," said Marjorie. "Why, I know quite a lot about her. And you all let an idea like that rule you?"
The boy nodded. "Some of them say that they do it just for fun, that they are not really afraid;—but those are the very ones who carry a chunk of wood around in their pockets so as to have it handy, and who would suddenly remember an engagement if they started to sit down at a table where there were twelve already."
