"Where have you been hiding yourself all the season, Mr. Foley?" she exclaimed. "We never see you now. I hope you are devoting yourself to some great picture that is to astonish us all. Do tell me what you have been doing in all these ages." Miss Crawford drew her airy dress away from one side of the capacious triangular ottoman, which had been almost hidden under her voluminous draperies, and Philip seated himself in the vacant place. Yes, there are decidedly some joys left even for the desperate man, and Philip experienced a keen sense of delight in defying Mr. Lobyer. That gentleman stood beside his betrothed, looking down upon her with an expression which might have in some degree justified the dismal forebodings of the people who foresaw only melancholy results from Miss Crawford's brilliant match. But Flo was not a person to be alarmed by the scowls of a jealous swain, scowl he never so savagely. She looked up at Mr. Lobyer with her sweetest smile, and murmured gently: "Surely, Thomas, you know Mr. Foley? you must have met him here again and again." The two men uttered unintelligible growls without looking at each other, and Florence continued her conversation with her unhappy admirer. "I hope you have been working very hard," she said, "and painting from nature. Papa is always talking about the necessity of painting from nature. Have you been abroad, or in Scotland, or Wales? Pray let us hear what you have been doing." "Very little so far, Miss Crawford," answered the landscape-painter gravely, "but I am beginning to work in savage earnest. 'Men must work, and women must weep.' I think that's what Mr. Kingsley says. Heaven knows the men work hard enough nowadays, but I fancy the race of women who weep has passed away." Miss Crawford looked at her victim with the most charming expression of bewilderment; and then after a brief pause she said sweetly: "I looked for something of yours at the British Institution and the Academy, and was so disappointed to find nothing. How did it happen?" "My pictures were rejected. It is my destiny to be rejected," said Philip, with tragical intensity. Mr. Lobyer at this moment gave utterance to a suppressed growl, and might possibly have testified his indignation by some overt act of discourtesy towards Philip, if a little deputation had not approached the ottoman to entreat a song from Miss Crawford. That young lady, rising promptly to comply with the desire of her friends, left her two lovers scowling at each other. A young German, of a musical turn of mind, conducted Flo to the piano, and made himself busy in arranging the music and placing the candles. Mr. Lobyer, glaring at this gentleman, and addressing Philip Foley under cover of this gentleman, gave utterance to his sentiments.