“Indeed? Umph! Not a bad match. Has he got any money? I don’t believe Tramlay is more than holding his own.” Phil felt his face flush as he moved away. He wanted to resent the remarks about his hostess, an implication that his friend Tramlay was other than rich, and, still more, that any young man could be led to the marriage-altar merely by money. If people were talking about him in such fashion he wished he might be out of sight. He would return at once to his hotel, had he not promised to take Lucia down to supper. He could at least hide himself, for a little while, in the gentlemen’s room up-stairs. Thither he went, hoping to be alone, but he found Marge, who had just come in, and who lost his self-possession for an instant when he recognized the well-dressed young man before him. “Anybody here?” drawled Marge. “Lucia is,--I mean Miss Tramlay,” said Phil, in absent-minded fashion,--“and lots of other people, of course.” Marge looked curiously at Phil’s averted face, and went down-stairs. Phil remained long enough to find that his mind was in an utter muddle, and that apparently nothing would compose it but another glimpse of Lucia. As supper was served soon after he went down, his wish was speedily gratified. From that time forward his eye sought her continually, although he tried to speak again to every one to whom he had been introduced. How he envied Lucia’s father, who was to escort the little witch home! How he wished that in the city, as at Haynton, people walked home from parties, and stood a long time at the gate, when maid and man were pleasantly acquainted! He saw Lucia go up-stairs when the company began leave-taking; he stood at the foot of the stair, that he might have one more glance at her. As she came down she was an entirely new picture, though none the less charming, in her wraps. And--oh, bliss!--she saw him, and said,-- “See me to the carriage, Phil, and then find papa for me.” How tenderly he handed her down the carpeted stone steps! He had seen pictures of such scenes, and tried to conform his poses with those he recalled. He opened the carriage door. Lucia stepped in, but her train could not follow of its own volition, so Phil had the joy of lifting the rustling mass that had the honor of following the feet of divinity. Then he closed the carriage door regretfully, but a little hand kindly stole through the window as Lucia said,-- “Good-night. Don’t forget to send papa out.” “I won’t,” said Phil. Then he looked back quickly: the door of the house was closed, so he raised the little hand to his lips and kissed it several times in rapid succession. True, the hand was gloved; but Phil’s imagination was not. CHAPTER XI. DRIFTING FROM MOORINGS.