“I 'm not angry with you, Ludlow, except in so far as you wrong yourself. Why, my dear boy, the pursuit of a foolish spite is like going after a bad debt. All the mischief you could possibly wish this poor woman could never repay _you_.” “How can _you_ know that without feeling as I feel?” retorted he, bitterly. “If I were to show you her letters,” began he; and then, as if ashamed of his ignoble menace, he stopped and was silent. “Why not think seriously of this heiress she speaks of? I saw her yesterday as she came back from riding; her carriage was awaiting her at the Piazza del Popolo, and there was actually a little crowd gathered to see her alight.” “Is she so handsome, then?” asked he, half listlessly. “She is beautiful; I doubt if I ever saw as lovely a face or as graceful a figure.” “I 'll wager my head on't, Loo is handsomer; I 'll engage to thrust my hand into the fire if Loo's foot is not infinitely more beautiful.” “She has a wonderfully handsome foot, indeed,” muttered Stocmar. “And so you have seen it,” said Paten, sarcastically. “I wish you 'd be frank with me, and say how far the flirtation went between you.” “Not half so far as I wished it, my boy. That's all the satisfaction you 'll get from me.” This was said with a certain irritation of manner that for a while imposed silence upon each. “Have you got a cheroot?” asked Paten, after a while; and the other flung his cigar-case across the table without speaking. “I ordered that fellow in Geneva to send me two thousand,” said Paten, laughing; “but I begin to suspect he had exactly as many reasons for not executing the order.” “Marry that girl, Ludlow, and you 'll get your 'bacco, I promise you,” said Stocmar, gayly. “That's all easy talking, my good fellow, but these things require time, opportunity, and pursuit. Now, who's to insure me that they 'd not find out all about _me_ in the mean while? A woman does n't marry a man with as little solicitation as she waltzes with him, and people in real life don't contract matrimony as they do in the third act of a comic opera.” “Faith, as regards obstacles, I back the stage to have the worst of it,” broke in Stocmar. “But whose cab is this in such tremendous haste,-- Trover's? And coming up here too? What's in the wind now?” He had but finished these words when Trover rushed into the room, his face pale as death, and his lips colorless. “What's up?--what's the matter, man?” cried Stocmar. “Ruin's the matter--a general smash in America--all securities discredited--bills dishonored--and universal failure.” “So much the worse for the Yankees,” said Paten, lighting his cigar coolly. A look of anger and insufferable contempt was all Trover's reply. “Are you deep with them?” asked Stocmar, in a whisper to the banker.