Mark dropped in a penny. “That’s for the monkey,” he said, in a significant tone. “Keep it yourself.” “Thank you,” said Paul, with unruffled good humor, for he felt that he could afford to be good natured. “Your liberality is unexpected.” Mark bit his lips, foolishly taking offense at this good natured retort. Another song was vociferously called for and given. Then a third was demanded, and the two minstrels retired amid a volley of plaudits. “That was perfectly charming,” said Grace De Vere, enthusiastically. “What a nice looking boy that Paul Parton is! He looked perfectly lovely in his velvet suit.” The boy to whom this was addressed was Mark Sterling, and it may well be believed that it was far from pleasing him. “Are you falling in love with him?” he asked, with a sneer. “I do believe I am!” answered Grace. “Don’t tell him, though!” “I am not likely to. The fellow is conceited enough already.” “Now, Mark, you are too bad. To me he seems remarkably modest.” “He ought to have more sense than to push himself forward so, being only a telegraph boy.” “I don’t care what he is; he is very nice and very good looking.” “I suppose you admire his singing, too?” “Yes, he has a sweet voice.” “That’s a matter of opinion.” “I do believe you’re jealous of him, Mark. You don’t like it because Jennie didn’t ask you to take the part.” This was really true, for Mark fancied himself a singer, though his voice was thin and shrill. Had he taken Paul’s part the effect would have been ludicrous, but, of course, he had no idea of this. It so happened that he knew the three songs which had been sung, and he was very much annoyed to have been passed over in what was the pronounced success of the evening, and to see a mere telegraph boy selected instead of him. “Jealous of a telegraph boy!” repeated Mark, with a scornful inflection. “I am not sunk quite so low as that.” About eleven o’clock the party broke up. Being a juvenile party, it was not kept up as late as if it had been attended by older persons. Paul took his leave with the rest, feeling that he had enjoyed himself uncommonly well. “I must thank you for a pleasant evening, Miss Jennie,” he said, as he said adieu to his youthful hostess. “You did your part towards making it so, Paul.” “Thank you for the opportunity.” “Don’t forget to come soon to see us,” said Jennie, giving her hand to Paul. Paul bowed his thanks, and left the house with three or four others in his company. Among them was Mark Sterling. “Where do you live?” asked Mark, abruptly. “Down town,” answered Paul, shortly. He felt reluctant to say that he lived in Ludlow Street, although he conjectured rightly that Mark would have no idea where it was situated. “I thought, perhaps, you might live on Fifth Avenue.” “Not at present; that may come later.” Mark laughed disdainfully. “When you give a party, I hope you will do us all the honor to send an invitation.” “Would you accept?” “Yes, I think I would.”