“I took up a Northern paper to-day,” said Kenrick, “in which the writer pleads the necessity of slavery, because, he says, ‘white men can’t work in the rice-swamps.’ Truly, a staggering argument! The whole rice production of the United States is only worth some four millions of dollars per annum! A single factory in Lowell can beat that. And we are asked to base a national policy on such considerations!” Here the approach of guests led to a change of topic. “And how have _your_ affairs prospered?” asked Vance. “Ah! cousin,” replied Kenrick, “I almost blush to tell you what an experience I’ve had.” “Not fallen in love, I hope?” “If it isn’t that, ’t is something very near it. The lady is staying with Miss Tremaine. A Miss Perdita Brown. Onslow took me to see her.” “And which is the favored admirer?” “Onslow, I fear. I’m not a lady’s man, you see. Indeed, I never wished to be till now. Give me a few lessons, cousin. Teach me a little small-talk.” “I must know something of the lady first.” “To begin at the beginning,” said Kenrick, “there can be no dispute as to her beauty. But there is a something in her manner that puzzles me. Is it lack of sincerity? Not that. Is it preoccupation of thought? Sometimes it seems that. And then some apt, flashing remark indicates that she has her wits on the alert. You must see her and help me read her. You visit Miss Laura?” “Yes. I’ll do your bidding, Charles. How often have you seen this enchantress?” “Too often for my peace of mind: three times.” “Is she a coquette?” “If one, she has the art to conceal art. There seems to be something on her mind more absorbing than the desire to fascinate. She’s an unconscious beauty.” “Say a deep one. Shall we meet at Miss Tremaine’s to-night?” “Yes; the moth knows he’ll get singed, but flutter he must.” “Take comfort, Charles, in that of thought of Tennyson’s, who tells us, ‘That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire.’” The cousins parted. They had no sooner quitted the breakfast-room than Onslow entered. After a hasty meal, he took his sword-belt and military-cap, and walked forth out of the hotel. As he passed Wakeman’s shop, near by, for the sale of books and periodicals, he was attracted by a photograph in a small walnut frame in the window. Stopping to examine it, he uttered an exclamation of surprise, stepped into the shop, and said to Wakeman, “Where did you get that photograph?” “That was sent here with several others by the photographer. You’ll find his name on the back.” “I see. What shall I pay you for it?” “A dollar.” “There it is.”