'Bertha, my queen,' continued she, as that lady's serene countenance beamed upon her in apparently immovable calmness, '_does_ anything ever arouse you? Have you forgotten, my impenetrable spirit, the sad days of yore, when we sobbed out grand _arias_ to the wretched accompaniment of Professor Tirili, blistered our young fingers on guitar strings, waded unprofitably in oceans of Locke and Bacon, and were oftener at the apex of a triangle than its comfortable base? And you always as calm as though 'sailing over summer seas!' Come--I am absolutely blue;' and the half-fretful belle, who had really exhausted her strength and amiability by a grand pedestrian tour in the Central Park that morning, stretched out demurely her gaiter boots, and drew with an invisible pencil on imaginary paper, the outline of her boldly arched instep. 'If Landon would only come,' sighed Fanny, musingly, counting the beads for the eye of the Polyphemus she was embroidering on a cushion for that gentleman's sofa meditations, 'he would entertain you, as well as the--one--two--three--witches in Macbeth.' 'No doubt of it,' said Henrietta. 'Five blues and two blacks,' said Fanny, not heeding the reply. 'See, girls,' and she held up the glittering orb, 'what a lovely eye!' The enthusiasm of her audience was delirious but subdued. I caught an occasional '_Such_ a love!' 'How sweet--how fierce!' 'Now,' said Henrietta, decidedly, 'if Medusa had but one eye, and this dear creature two, I should die as miserably as the lady who loved the Apollo Belvidere. I have had _oceans_ of knights errant--but _such_! I think of writing a natural history like--Cuvier.' 'Yes,' said Bertha, quietly, 'or Peter Parley.' 'Suppose I read you the advance sheets some morning?' 'Charming,' said Fanny, with a little shrug of approaching delight. 'Mr. Landon Snowe, Miss Fanny,' said a crusty voice, and from under a tower of white turban, Sibyl's face looked out--at the door. 'We will see him here, Sibyl,' said Fanny, brightly; 'and oh, Sibyl, ask Mott to make a macaroon custard for dinner, for Miss Ruyter.' 'Excellent,' said that lady, again with the De Lancy Stevens air, 'I ate--those--in--Paris. They actually flavor them there with _Haut Brion!_ and they are delicious!' and Henrietta's lips fairly quivered at the remembrance, that was by no means a recollection of the long-ago enjoyed dainties. 'Such extravagance!' said Fanny, opening her eyes, and arranging sundry little points in her attitude that were intended to be very piercing indeed to the gentleman, whose step was now heard in the hall. 'Such extravagance, Harry! Your father, I suppose. You'll get nothing better than Port here. Good morning, Mr. Snowe.'