"To be sure, Ada, don't you recollect I was dancing with that odious little Herbert Hopper?" said Edna. "Whenever I go to the Pinkertons, I'm sure to meet him invariably, and he never leaves me, so that I have to endure the pleasure of his company the whole of the evening." "I wish I were in the place of that odious little Hopper," remarked Jobson, gallantly. "There are others no better," said Edna; "as for Herbert Hopper, I must say that he is a perfect little pest, and I do wish he wouldn't annoy me." "Say the word, Miss Heath," said Jobson, "and I'll slay him." "O Miss," deprecated the Count, with a winning air, "do not--do not, I pray you, be so severe with the fire of your indignation on the poor boy. It is not his fault. You do not know what he has to contend with. How can he help it? When we see a parterre of beautiful flowers, do we not all stop and linger around the most beautiful and loveliest of them?" and he added some words in French that caused Edna to smile with evident pleasure, and pout her lips coquettishly. Mark's feelings underwent a complete revulsion. His bitter disappointment had given place to anger incited by jealousy and the cavalier treatment he had received. Now disenchantment succeeded, and left him very sad. Was it for this he had striven? Where were all those fond illusions and longings, those bright visions of future happiness? Gone in one brief interview with the enchantress that had conjured them. Was this vain, artificial flirt--this heartless girl who treated him with disdain and indifference, the sweet idol he had worshipped so fervently from boyhood? He could stay no longer in her presence, and with a haughty bow to the company rose to leave. Edna bent her head with a dismissive nod, and continued her frivolous conversation with the Count. Jobson sprang up also to leave. "Which way, Colonel? Stopping at the Albemarle, ain't you? Down the avenue, I suppose? I'll go with you. Stop a minute till I look at my watch. By Jove! later than I thought. Ladies, much as I regret it, I must tear myself away. Don't grieve, and I'll promise to return again and heal your lacerated hearts. 'Too late I stayed, forgive the crime, Unheeded flew the hours, How softly falls the foot of time, That only treads on flowers!' With which elegant extract this Child of Affliction begs to subscribe himself on the tablets of your hearts, ladies, as your most obedient and obliged good servant. Ajew--ajew! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say--ajew, till it be morrow. Ha, ha, ha!"