"If it lay with us," said Alan Rush, sadly. "But it is as you say. She will frighten most of the young fellows. By Jove, she looks as if she had danced at Washington's first ball. But that's it. Nothing free and easy, there. It's no longer the fashion to be too aristocratic." But Isabel, if she did not create a _furore_ among the young men, who would have thought such a performance beneath their dignity, was, at least, generally admitted to be "Pretty well as stunning a girl as you might see in a long day's journey," "a regular ripper," "the handsomest of the bunch," and as far as "mere looks went" the "pick of the lot." The girls viewed her with no great favor, but the majority of the women, especially those in the galleries, sustained the verdict of the men; and the Leader, in the course of the evening, descended and introduced herself, claimed relationship, and graciously intimated that if Isabel cared to join the _cotillon_ clubs and the skating-rink--_The_ skating-rink--an exclusive yet hospitable wing would be lifted. A younger brother of Mr. Hofer, who had also multiplied his paternal million, devoted himself to her seriously, and Gwynne, who soon had enough of dancing, gracefully renounced his claims to the german. They had one waltz together and then he did not see her again until the hour of departure, when he stood in the hall and watched her descend the winding white stair between the roses. He thought her a charming picture in her long white coat, with a lace scarf over her head, and her arms full of costly toys. When she reached his side she ordered him to put her favors into the pockets of his overcoat, and keep his hand on his pistol, as she would not risk losing one of them, much less her jewels. Her eyes were very bright, and her cheeks deeply flushed, but were the cause a fully satisfied ambition, he could only guess. XXXIV The hour was four, and after they had said their last good-night to the guests whose homes lay between the Hofer mansion and their own, they met but one foot passenger as belated as themselves. This was a big man that loomed suddenly out of the fog. Isabel screamed and ran into the middle of the street, and Gwynne, who had obediently taken out his pistol, half raised it. But the man laughed. "I'm on the lookout for thim meself," he said, in a rich brogue. "Good luck to yees." As they let themselves into the house, Gwynne threw his hat and coat on the settle in the vestibule, and then ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his head, a habit of his when he had a suggestion to make. "I remember we were going to sit up the rest of that night--or morning--after Arcot," he said. "Are you very tired?" "Tired? I shall not sleep a wink for hours. The fire is sure to be laid in the tower-room."