“But your steamer leaves at four, you say? What are you tarrying here for?” “_Mais, pour vos beaux yeux_----” “Mr. ’Olyoke,” said the footman from behind the heavy curtains. Wemyss struck his two hands together in mock desperation; but as a matter of fact, the interruption was opportune, for he did not in the least know what to do next. There is a certain point in talk beyond which anything not final is an anti-climax. “Say you are not at home,” said he, eagerly. But Mrs. Gower chose to be very gracious to Arthur. She gave him her hand with the simple cordiality of a school-girl. “I am so glad you have not forgotten our drive,” said she. Arthur had quite forgotten it; so he filled up the time by bowing to Mr. Wemyss; a salute which that gentleman received with some stiffness. Mrs. Gower made a very suggestion of a tinkle in a bell that stood at her elbow. “Horridge, are the ponies ready?” “Mrs. Gower’s carriage his hin waiting,” said Horridge, with a respectful gasp or two before the vowels. “You see, Mr. Wemyss,” said Flossie. “I hope you have not missed your steamer. I must not keep you for one moment longer.” “I see I shall have to postpone my trip,” said Wemyss. “_Madame!_” (this with much formality.) “_Monsieur!_” (Mrs. Gower quite outdid Mr. Wemyss in her exaggeration of a long curtesy.) “Now, Mr. Holyoke,” said Flossie, when the cosmopolitan had departed, “I am sure you will give me your company for a drive in the park?” If there is no Englishman who would not enjoy walking down Pall Mall on the arm of two dukes, there is surely no American who would not like to be whirled through the world at the side of Mrs. Levison Gower. They drove for an hour in the park; and Arthur had the pleasure of raising his hat to Jimmy De Witt, Miss Pussie Duval, Mrs. Jack Malgam and Antoine Duval, Jr., Killian Van Kull, Charlie Townley, and many others unknown to him who bowed to her. She talked to him of books and poetry; of Heine, Rossetti and of Shelley; and the tender tones of her voice would have moved an older man than Arthur to sympathy with her. “I had thought that she was worldly,” said Arthur to himself. “There must be some secret in her life I have not yet discovered,” (this was very possible, seeing he had only been with her three hours)--“some great suffering or repression which makes her wear this fashionable garb as an armor to veil her wounded heart. It is despair that makes her plunge so wildly into this whirl of company and show; the loss forever of something she once longed for, that drives her to distraction and diversion. Love of pleasure it is surely not.”