On the following afternoon Selina went out with her father to take a ride on horseback; and when they returned they found on the centre table the card of John W. Robertson. "Another _contre-tems_," cried Selina. "He has been here again, and I have not seen him to pay him the cent!" "Send it to him by Ovid," said Mr. Mansel. "_Send_ such a trifle to a gentleman!" exclaimed Selina. "Certainly," replied her father. "Even in the smallest trifles, it is best to be correct and punctual. You know I have always told you so." Selina left the room for the purpose of despatching Ovid with the cent, but Ovid had gone out on some affairs of his own, and when she returned to the parlour she found two young ladies there, whose visit was not over till nearly dusk. By that time Ovid was engaged in setting the tea-table; a business from which nothing could ever withdraw him till all its details were slowly and minutely accomplished. "It will be time enough after tea," said Selina, who, like most young housekeepers, was somewhat in awe of her servants. When tea was over both in parlour and kitchen (and by the members of the lower house that business was never accomplished without a long session), Ovid was despatched to the hotel with "Miss Mansel's compliments to Mr. Robertson, and the cent that she had borrowed of him." It was long before Ovid came back, and he then brought word that Mr. Robertson was out, but that he had left the cent with Mr. Muddler, the barkeeper. "Of course," said Selina, "the barkeeper will give it to Mr. Robertson as soon as he returns." "I have my doubts," replied Ovid. "Why?" asked Selina; "why should you suppose otherwise?" "Because," answered Ovid, "Mr. Muddler is a very doubty sort of man. That is, he's always to be doubted of. I lived at the hotel once, and I know all about him. He don't mind trifles, and he never remembers nothing. I guess Mr. Robertson won't be apt to get the cent: for afore I left the bar, I saw Muddler give it away in change to a man that came for a glass of punch. And I'm sure that Muddler won't never think no more about it. I could be as good as qualified that he won't." "How very provoking!" cried Selina. "You should have sealed it up in a piece of paper, and directed it to Mr. Robertson," said her father, raising his eyes from the newspaper in which he had been absorbed for the last hour. "Whatever is to be done at all, should always be done thoroughly." "Yes, miss," said Ovid, "you know that's what your departed aunt always told you: partikaly when you were stoning reasons for plum-cake." Selina was now at a complete loss what course to pursue. The cent was in itself a trifle; but there had been so much difficulty about it, that it seemed to have swelled into an object of importance: and from this time her repugnance to speaking of it to Mr. Robertson, or to any one else, became almost insurmountable.