The next day Mark arrived in New York. He alighted at the "Albemarle" and proceeded at once to make himself as presentable as his worn uniform would permit, and after a deal of brushing came out almost as smart-looking as a West Point cadet. As the time for the longed-for meeting neared, an unaccountable timidity seized him, and it required more screwing up of his courage to ring the door-bell of Mr. Mumbie's house, than it would to have made him charge a battery. The new residence of the Mumbies was one of those extravagant structures that line the Fifth Avenue, and costly enough to be the domicil of a duke. Mark asked to see Miss Heath. The domestic who answered his ring replied that he did not know whether she were in or not, but would go and see--would the gentleman give his name? Mark sent up a card and the servant returned with a "not at home." When would she be in? Servant couldn't tell--uncertain--didn't know. The colonel went away, found some brother officers at the hotel, and dined with them. Afterwards he returned to Mr. Mumbie's, but met with no better success; Miss Heath was still "not at home." Disappointed again, Mark returned to his hotel and retired to his room to smoke in gloomy meditation and solitude. He was debating upon the propriety of calling again that day, when his privacy was invaded by one of the officers he had dined with. Being an old comrade of the colonel, he burst in unceremoniously, "Where the devil have you been, Gildersleeve? I've been looking all over for you the past two hours. Want to see you badly. What's the matter, old boy; you look awfully down in the mouth. Not sick, I hope? Here, rouse up; I've got an invite for you to a grand shine to-night. It's a big blow-out, and we'll have some fun." Mark drew from its envelope an engraved card imparting the information that the pleasure of his company was requested by Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel at No. ---- Madison Square, on that evening. "What's this, major?" inquired Mark; "Who is Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel?" "Don't know the Van Spuytenduyvels! Why, benighted boy, the Van Spuytenduyvels are one of the most illustrious and stupid families in the State, and of the best blood of the Knickerbockers. The wretches wallow in wealth. Where stands yon costly fane was once the ancestral cabbage plantation of the Van Spuytenduyvels. However, that's neither here nor there. The lady is an old friend of mine, and that's enough. Met her a while ago--mentioned you--told her you were a good-looking boy, battle-scarred, and all that sort o' thing; and she said, bring him along, by all means, and made me promise besides. So don't look so bored; go you must." "Go, nonsense! Why should I go?" said Mark, in no mood for trifling. "I don't know this lady." "I told you that I had recorded a solemn vow to bring you, and you've got to go, willy-nilly," said the major, imperturbably. "But I've no dress suit," expostulated Mark.