“From very good authority; he is said to have $200,000 in bank stocks besides a sugar plantation worth $12,000 per annum, and slaves enough to stock a colony; so you see he is a prize worth winning. As for Cecil Forrester, I am sorry he is here, but I must manage to turn him over to the unsophisticated little rustic for the present. I do not wish to give him a downright dismissal, because if I should fail to secure the millionaire it would be as well to fall back upon Forrester’s $30,000. The game will be a difficult one, but the glory of success will be the greater.” “I hope you will reap some of the spoils of victory, Laura, for our legacy is rapidly diminishing, and when it is gone you know there will be no further chance.” “Never fear, Mamma; my stock in trade is very good—beauty, tact, and five thousand dollars form a very excellent capital, and I think I can afford to speculate rather largely.” “But more than half of the most essential part of your capital is already gone, and you have not as yet succeeded.” “You forget that I have gained a footing in society by its expenditure; leave every thing to me, and if I am not married before next season, then write me down a fool.” Cecil Forrester heard every word of this dialogue. At its commencement he had started to his feet, and if any one could have witnessed his gestures and contortions he would have been deemed a madman. His face flushed and paled, his eyes dilated with anger and flashed with contempt, his lip curled in bitter scorn, and narrowly escaped being bitten through as he gnashed his teeth in impotent rage; he clenched his hands, he tore off the turquoise ring which he had hitherto worn on his little finger as a _gage d’amitié_ from the false beauty, and finally, after exhausting his angry emotions, he flung himself into a seat, with a calm and determined expression of countenance which augured ill for some of the schemes of Miss Laura Oriel. THE DINING-ROOM. Is there any thing more musical to the ear of the time-sick lounger at a fashionable watering-place than the dinner-bell? Talk of the melody of running streams, the sighing of summer winds, the carol of forest birds! they may be all very pleasant sounds in certain moods of the mind, but for a music which never fails to please, a sound which never falls wearily upon the senses, a voice which is never uttered to a listless ear, commend me to that dinner-bell. The dullest face brightens into something like intelligence, the most confirmed valetudinarian forgets all elegant debility, the most intellectual remember the pressing claims of the physical man, and the most refined of women venture to look somewhat interested in the vulgar duty of dining. The saloon was crowded with company all eager for the summons which was to transform them into eating animals.