Arthur fell to Miss Duval’s share, a position he always found a somewhat uncomfortable one; for how could he replace another man like Jimmy De Witt, and that one her acknowledged lover? But, had he known it, Miss Pussie, who was looking forward with intense and hungry anticipation for the joys of worldly pleasure and a fashionable marriage, and regarded this coaching party as an earnest of them, would have blushed at herself if she had been so out of the mode as to be unable to flirt with anyone but her future husband. It must be owned, therefore, that she found our hero slow; she tried to talk to him of hunting, and he to her of books, both things of which they were reciprocally ignorant. Then they walked up and down the great piazza, and amused themselves by looking through the windows into the great parlors, where the hotel girls (_puella tabernensis Americana_) were dancing with some tightly buttoned cadets. Just then Lionel Derwent came up, alone with his cigar. “Let me join you,” said he. “I went downhill and I came upon Birmingham, in at attitude full of unconscious humor, addressing Miss Farnum; I came up-hill and blundered upon Van Kull and Mrs. Hay. From these I retreated in disorder only to make myself _de trop_ with Mr. Caryl Wemyss and our charming hostess. Shall I be so here?” Miss Duval laughed. “I was just going to bed, Mr. Derwent; so you and Mr. Holyoke can fight it out alone. Good-night--good-night, Mr. Holyoke.” And she left them in the doorway and took her way up the great staircase. Arthur and Mr. Derwent looked at one another inquiringly. “Shall we go and smoke?” said the latter, at last. “By all means,” answered Arthur. “Where shall we go--out upon the cliff?” “I am afraid it is too densely populated there for such a wild man as myself, already,” said Derwent, laughing. “Come down to the billiard-room.” They went down there, and sat at a table, opposite a bar, where they were not, as Derwent expressed it, “troubled by the moon,” and here they smoked their cigars and pondered. “Mr. Van Kull seems rather devoted to Mrs. Hay,” said Arthur, at a venture. “And well he may be,” said Derwent, gravely. “He prefers the flowers of evil; and she is a most glorious one.” “Evil?” said Arthur, incredulously. “She seems to me a kind-hearted creature, fond of show, no worse than thoughtless.”