Of the invisible members of "the Colonel's" household, fleecy rumors only pervaded society at intervals. The social Stanleys and Livingstons who had essayed the sources of the Wood family stream in its dark continent of brown-faced brick, on a quiet avenue, sent back vague stories of a lovely and patient invalid, and a more lovely and equally patient young girl, mother and sister to Miss Rose. There was a misty legend sometimes floating around the clubs, that "the Colonel," after the method of Cleopatra, had dissolved his wife's fortune in a posset, and swallowed it years before. But again the reputation of a dead shot cramped curiosity. And a similar mist sometimes pervaded five o'clock teas and reunions _chez la modiste_, to the effect that the younger sister was but as a Midianite to the elder, while the mother was dying of neglect. But as neither subject of this gossip was in society, the mist never condensed into direction. Society found Miss Rose Wood a peculiarly useful and pleasant person; and it took her--as "the Colonel" took many of his pleasures--on trust. II. The ball was a crowded one; but was, perhaps, the most brilliant and select of that season, combining a Christmas-eve festivity with the _debut_ party of the acknowledged beauty and prize-heiress of the entire set. Blanche Allmand had been finally finishing abroad for some years, after having won her blue-ribboned diploma from Mde. de Cancaniere, on Murray Hill. Rumors of her perfections of face and form and character had come across the seas, in those thousand-and-one letters, for which a fostering government makes postal unions. And ever mingled with these rumors, came praises of those thousand-and-one accomplishments, which society is equally apt to admire as to envy, even while it does not appreciate. But what most inspired with noble ambition the gilded youth of that particular _coterie_, was the universally accepted fact that old Jack Allmand was master of the warmest fortune that any papa thereabouts might add to the blessing he bestowed upon his son-in-law. And, like Jeptha of old, he "had one fair daughter and no more." A widower--not only "warm," but very safe--he had weathered all the shoals and quicksands of "the street," and had brought his golden argosy safe into the port of investment. Then he had retired from business, which theretofore had engrossed his whole heart and soul, and lavished both upon the fair young girl, to bring whom from final finishing at the _Sacre Coeur_, he had just made himself so hideously sea-sick.