The Armitage family occupied a high position in society. Mr. Armitage was a man of intelligence and wealth, his mercantile influence was great, and though mingling but little in the gay crowds which his wife and daughter frequented, he was universally sought after and respected. Mrs. Armitage was a refined and elegant woman, nurtured in luxury—she shrunk from any contact with rude, or ill-bred persons, and thoroughly despised the mean-spirited parasites who sought to bask in the influence which her husband’s wealth and her own fashion shed abroad. She was fastidious in her choice of associates, perhaps a little too much so, and consequently her acquaintance was eagerly sought. Her daughter Helen was, as has been said, a beautiful girl of eighteen, with as much refinement, and less exclusiveness than her mother; a belle in society, and the idol of her father at home. While Harry Armitage, a frank, manly, high-spirited youth, just of age, full of fun, yet the soul of honor, was his mother’s delight and the beau ideal of the ladies. Truly not to know the Armitages was to argue oneself unknown. Harry Armitage, who was away on a shooting excursion, did not return home until a few days after his mother, and consequently had heard nothing of the Rumseys. But it so chanced, that on the very morning upon which his mother called upon Mrs. Leonard, he was strolling up one of the principal promenades with a friend, when they met a person whose appearance attracted Harry’s attention. “Who, in the name of all the tailors, is this walking fashion-plate?” he exclaimed, glancing at the same moment toward a small, slight young man, with very light hair, and a luxuriant buff-colored moustache, who, with an air of ill-attempted ease, came sauntering toward them. He was attired according to the latest mode, his bottle-green “cut-away” displaying a gaudy vest and plaid neckerchief to great advantage, while from beneath his drab pantaloons appeared feet snugly encased in patent-leather pumps and crimson hose. Harry’s friend looked up, as he replied smiling—“Why, Armitage, don’t you remember your old chum and particular friend, young Rumsey?” “I can’t say that I do,” replied the other with a smile, as the individual in question passed, with a stare at Armitage and a low bow to his friend. “At least,” he added, “you see he has cut me quite coolly. I don’t think he recognized me any better than I did himself, for I am pretty sure we never met before.” “Strange, that he should not have known you,” said his companion. “Why, he used your name as a means of introducing himself to me.” “My name!” ejaculated Harry in surprise. “Impossible—how did it happen?”