"Here, at least, my dear Cora, we shall be able to breathe," said Adelaide, as the two girls approached Gilbert. "Ah, Mr. Margrave," she added, perceiving the young artist, "it is here, then, that you have been hiding yourself while a hundred lion-hunters have been trying to chase you. Cora, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Gilbert Margrave, engineer, artist, poet--lion! Mr. Margrave, allow me to present to you Miss Cora Leslie, my friend, and the most elegant waltzer in my aunt's crowded assembly." "I beg, Mr. Margrave," said Cora Leslie, "that you will not listen to Miss Horton's assertions; she only grants me this eulogy because she knows that she waltzes better than I." "Will you permit me to be the judge of that, Miss Leslie?" said Gilbert, "and, in order that I may be so, grant me your hand for the next waltz?" "Oh, yes, yes," cried Adelaide, laughing, "we'll waltz with you. I promise for Cora. Now, pray go back into the ball-room, Mr. Margrave, and satisfy those good people who are pining to stare you out of countenance, which is the only English tribute to genius. Go, now, you shall summon Cora as soon as the first notes of the waltz strike up." "Au revoir, Miss Leslie, till I come to claim your hand." Gilbert bowed and left the ante-room, not without one enthusiastic glance at the innocent face of the fair Louisianian. "There goes another of your admirers, Cora," cried Adelaide, as she flung herself into one of the luxurious easy-chairs, while Cora seated herself on a sofa, a few paces distant and laid her bouquet of hot-house flowers on a tiny table at her side. "I declare, Miss Cora Leslie, that I begin to think I did a very unwise thing in persuading my dear, good-natured aunt to give this farewell reunion to our English friends, for you had only to make your appearance in order to steal every admirer I have. It is a general desertion to the camp of the enemy. I should not wonder if Mortimer himself joined the renegades, and left me to sing willow for my inconstant swain." "But I thought from what you told me, Adelaide," replied Cora, laughing, "that Mr. Percy was by no means a very enthusiastic or romantic person." "Oh, no indeed," said Adelaide, with an impatient sigh; "you are right there, my dear Cora; never was there such a cold-hearted, matter-of-fact being as that cousin and future husband of mine. If he pays me a compliment, it is only an artful way of drawing attention to one of my defects, which, I will own, are rather numerous. If he ever utters an affectionate word, I always feel convinced that he is laughing at me. Imagine, now, my dear Cora, was it not flattering to my womanly vanity to hear him say, when he arrived in London a month or two ago, after a separation of four years, 'My dear Adelaide, my aunt has taken it into her head that you and I ought to marry; I don't want to oppose her, and I suppose you don't, either.'" "And you replied--"