It had been a very pleasant winter for them both, and Fanny had been immensely pleased with the society of Paris. She imagined she had seen all there was to see; and as she numbered several titled reprobates among her acquaintances, she was convinced that she had been in very grand society indeed. Very clever fellows those society adventurers are in all countries, and especially so in France. It was not at all hard for them to find out what this wealthy, frivolous American woman expected to find, and very little harder to furnish it for her; so Fanny gloried in the list of titled visitors at her weekly receptions, without the least idea that they were merely the scum of the elegant Parisian society that she fondly imagined herself a member of. Of course, Elwell had a separate existence, after the French model, and knew as little about his wife’s pleasures as she did about his, and both were content. It was a rainy, disagreeable day in March when they arrived at the city of sand and sawdust, and received the hearty greetings of old Pat Morain. Perhaps it was merely the effect of the disagreeable weather that caused Fanny to evince so much disgust at the appearance of everything. Certainly she was in a very discontented humor, and submitted to her father’s hearty caress with rather less than a daughter’s affection. “There, father,” she cried pettishly, “don’t spoil my hat, for goodness’ sake!” And Pat retreated after one frosty kiss in rather a crestfallen manner. “Ye’ve not changed much anyway,” he muttered to himself, looking at his daughter reproachfully; but he recovered his usual good nature directly, and shook hands with his son-in-law with hearty kindness. “We have had a splendid time, father,” said Elwell gracefully, “and we thank you for it. You must not mind Fanny now. She is a little tired and out of spirits.” “Mind it, me boy? Not a bit!” exclaimed Pat heartily. “You’re as welcome as a freshet on the river, and I’m mighty glad to think that you’ve enjoyed yourselves.” “La, James!” cried Fanny shrilly--perhaps for the benefit of the bystanders--“who would have thought the old place could look so intensely disagreeable? Goodness knows, I’m glad I shall not be here long!” Perhaps her husband had his own ideas as to the probable length of her stay; but he remained discreetly silent, and they got into the carriage that was waiting to take them home.