Her wealth and beauty had installed her at once as the reigning belle of the season. Suitors she had without number. Noticeable among them, besides the Italian count, were: the still faithful Spooner, the former dog-fancier, now the Rev. F. Standish Spooner, in charge of a congregation at Roxbury, that he sadly neglected to wait upon Miss Heath, without, however, much hope of success, as his ineligibility as a partner in the dance put him at a woful disadvantage; the dashing stockbroker, Jobson, whom the belle rather disdained, in spite of his horses and yacht, as unrefined and inclined to low tastes; Herbert Hopper, a little fop, with immeasurably more money than brains; a pretty fellow, though, that scores of girls would gladly have taken up with; and last though not least, Percy Brocatelle, a famous leader of the German. Percy's means of livelihood were involved in mystery, and his antecedents humble. He had been a clerk at Stewart's, where his gentlemanly address and good looks had won him many friends and acquaintances from among the fashionable patronesses of that establishment. Under the auspices of the sagacious Sexton Brown, he had forsaken the glove-counter, and made his débût as a society-man, gradually rising to eminence in that arduous profession. Envious swells, to be sure, maligned him; sons of successful pork-merchants and stable-keepers blackballed him and refused him admission to their clubs; but Brocatelle rose triumphant over all these obstacles, and was found everywhere--that was anywhere--for who could so deftly tread the mazes of the German as he? Whose head was so round, or hair parted with such precision as his? And who else combined with all this, clothes so faultless, and a mustache so imposing? His taste, furthermore, in ladies' dress--in their laces, gloves, ribbons, and coiffures, was unimpeachable and invaluable. These qualities were not to be gainsaid; and Edna, for one, declared publicly, that she preferred dancing with him to any one else, and dreaded his criticism on her attire more than even that of the great Schmauder. Yet in spite of all these advantages, Percy could make no headway against the Count--the irresistible Count, surrounded with all the fascinating and terrible glories of the Borgia family, whose star was in the ascendant until a prince--a real PRINCE, came along. For it happened in those days that the son of a reigning monarch was making a tour of the States. His mother, who was, naturally enough, a queen, although a queen, bore as irreproachable a character as any matron in her dominions; and as such praiseworthy conduct on the part of a sovereign deserved encouragement, several estimable old citizens of the great metropolis deemed it their duty to manifest their approval of her good behavior, by giving a public ball to her son, out of respect for his august mother. This, to be sure, was but a left-handed compliment to the son, and when a committee of the reverend