Delaney picked up the Evening Post, and read--with a solemnity that betrayed young Firkins into exclaiming, “By Jove, now!”-- “Married, on the 10th instant, by the Rev. Friar Laurence, at the residence of the bride’s uncle, Montague Capulet, Esq., Miss Adrienne Le Couvreur to Mr. Ralph Van Twiller, both of this city. No cards.” “Free List suspended,” murmured De Peyster. “It strikes me,” said Frank Livingstone, who had been ruffling the leaves of a magazine at the other end of the table, “that you fellows are in a great fever about Van Twiller.” “So we are.” “Well, he has simply gone out of town.” “Where?” “Up to the old homestead on the Hudson.” “It’s an odd time of year for a fellow to go into the country.” “He has gone to visit his mother,” said Livingstone. “In February?” “I did n’t know, Delaney, that there was any statute in force prohibiting a man from visiting his mother in February if he wants to.” Delaney made some light remark about the pleasure of communing with Nature with a cold in her head, and the topic was dropped. Livingstone was hand in glove with Van Twilier, and if any man shared his confidence it was Livingstone. He was aware of the gossip and speculation that had been rife in the club, but he either was not at liberty or did not think it worth while to relieve our curiosity. In the course of a week or two it was reported that Van Twiller was going to Europe; and go he did. A dozen of us went down to the Scythia to see him off. It was refreshing to have something as positive as the fact that Van Twiller had sailed. II. Shortly after Van Twiller’s departure the whole thing came out. Whether Livingstone found the secret too heavy a burden, or whether it transpired through some indiscretion on the part of Mrs. Vanrensselaer Vanzandt Van Twiller, I cannot say; but one evening the entire story was in the possession of the club. Van Twiller had actually been very deeply interested--not in an actress, for the legitimate drama was not her humble walk in life, but--in Mademoiselle Olympe Zabriski, whose really perilous feats on the trapeze had astonished New York the year before, though they had failed to attract Delaney and me the night we wandered into the up-town theatre on the trail of Van Twiller’s mystery.