“By the way,” Edith said, “the colonel had a letter from Godfrey last night, and it seems the engagement he has so long desired has at last come about.” “Whose engagement?” I asked. “Godfrey’s and Miss Creighton’s.” “I supposed that was settled long ago.” “It was by the parents, but not by the parties most interested. Godfrey has never manifested any great degree of fervor, and has rather made light of it, I think; but it is done now, and they will be married as soon as he gets his profession, possibly sooner. The colonel is greatly rejoiced.” I glanced at Gertie, still rubbing and blowing the scratch on her hand, but if the news of Godfrey’s approaching marriage produced any effect upon her it was not visible. Her bright color was just as bright and her blue eyes just as placid in their expression, unless, indeed, there was a little wonder in them as she looked up quickly and said: “A newly engaged couple,—won’t that be nice? How do you suppose Mr. Godfrey will act as an engaged man? I always think of him as a boy, and still he must be twenty-four.” And yet in her heart there was a shadow of regret that Godfrey should be wasted upon Alice Creighton, who never liked her, and who might make Godfrey dislike her, too. “She shall not do that,” she thought, when alone in her own room she was reflecting upon the news which had dimmed somewhat the brightness of the day. “I’ll be so kind and good to her that she cannot help liking me, and so I’ll gain her friendship instead of losing Godfrey’s.” With this end in view, she transferred a part of the flowers from Godfrey’s room to that of his _fiancée_, where she rearranged the furniture, and into which she brought her own handsome reading chair, Edith’s gift on her last birthday. Remembering Alice’s indolent, lounging habits, and how much she was addicted to what Godfrey called “lying around loose,” she knew the chair would just suit the languid little lady, and placed it by the window where the finest view of the river was to be had. Later in the day she dressed herself for the evening and wore her prettiest white muslin, with the fluted ruffles and ribbons of blue, and then went down to the piazza where the colonel and Edith were waiting for their guests. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE TRAVELLERS, Were Miss Creighton, Miss Schuyler, Miss Emma Schuyler, Miss Barton, Godfrey, Robert and Tom; and they made a very merry party as they entered the car at the Thirty-first Street station, and with their dash and style and self-assurance of manner seemed to take entire possession of the road and ignore the presence of every one. “Three gentlemen to four ladies; that’s lucky for one of us,” Tom Barton said, as he quietly appropriated his sister and Emma Schuyler to himself, leaving Julia as a matter of course to Robert Macpherson, and Alice to her betrothed.