“Going, my love?” cried Mrs Edgerley; “the fatal hour--has it really come so soon?--You leave us all _desolée_, of course; how _shall_ we exist to-day? And it was so good of you to come. Remember! we shall be dying till we have a new tale from the author of _Hope Hazlewood_. I long to see it. I know it will be charming, or it could not be yours.--And, my love, you look quite lovely--such roses! I think you quite the most exquisite little creature in the world. Remember me to your excellent mamma. Is your carriage waiting? Ah, I am miserable to part with you. Farewell--that dreadful word--farewell!” Again that light perfumy touch waved over one blushing cheek and then another. Mrs Edgerley continued to wave her hand and make them pretty signals till they reached the door, whither they hastened as quickly and as quietly as possible, not desiring any escort; but few were the privileged people in Mrs Edgerley’s morning-room, and no one cared to do the girls so much honour. Outside the house their friend the gardener waited with two bouquets, so rare and beautiful that the timid recipients of the same, making him their humble thanks, scarcely knew how to express sufficient gratitude. Some one was arriving as they departed--some one who, making the discovery of their presence, stalked towards them, almost stumbling over Agnes, who happened to be nearest to him. “Going away?” said a dismayed voice at a considerable altitude. Mr Endicott’s thin head positively vibrated with mortification; he stretched it towards Marian, who stood before him smiling over her flowers, and fixed a look of solemn reproach upon her. “I am aware that beauty and youth flee often from the presence of one who looks upon life with a studious eye. This disappointment is not without its object. You are going away?” “Yes,” said Marian, laughing, but with a little charitable compassion for her own particular victim, “and you are just arriving? It is very odd--you should have come yesterday.” “Permit me,” said Mr Endicott moodily;--“no; I am satisfied. This experience is well--I am glad to know it. To us, Miss Atheling,” said the solemn Yankee, as he gave his valuable assistance to Agnes--“to us this play and sport of fortune is but the proper training. Our business is not to enjoy; we bear these disappointments for the world.”