Mr. Staggchase was a thin, wintry man, looking, as Fenton once said, like the typical Yankee spoiled by civilization. He had always in a scene of this sort the air of being somewhat out of place, but of having brought his business with him, so that he was neither idle nor bored. It was upon business that he now spoke to Hubbard. "Did you see Lincoln to-day?" he asked. "He has got an ultimatum from those parties. They will sell all their rights for $70,000." "For $70,000," repeated Mr. Hubbard, thoughtfully. "We can afford to give that if we are sure about the road; but I don't know that we are. If Irons gets hold of any hint of what we are doing he can upset the whole thing." "But he won't. There is no fear of that." A movement in the crowd brought Edith Fenton at this moment to the side of Mr. Hubbard. She was radiant to-night in her primrose gown, and the gentleman, with whom she was always a favorite, turned toward her with evident pleasure. "Isn't it a jam," she said. "I have ceased to have any control over my movements." "That is unkind, when I fancied you allowed yourself to give me the pleasure of seeing you," returned he with elaborate courtesy. "Let me take you in to the supper-room." "Thank you," Edith replied, taking his arm. "I do not object to an ice, and I want to ask a favor. Haven't you some copying you can give a _protegee_ of mine? She's a lovely girl, and she really writes very nicely. I assure you she needs the work, or I wouldn't bother you." They made their way into the hall before he answered. Then he asked, with some seriousness,-- "Are you sure she is absolutely to be trusted?" "Trusted? Why, of course. I'd trust her as absolutely as I would myself." "I asked because I do happen to have some copying I want done; but it is of the most serious importance that it be kept secret. It is the prospectus of a big business scheme, and if a hint of it got on the air it would all be ruined." Edith looked up into his face and smiled. "Her name," she said, "is Melissa Blake, and you will find her--Or, wait; what time shall I send her to your office to-morrow?" Her companion smiled in turn. They had reached the door of the supper-room, where the clatter of dishes, the popping of champagne corks, and the rattle of silver were added to the babble of conversation which filled the whole house. About the tables was going on a struggle which, however well-bred, was at least sufficiently vigorous. "You take a good deal for granted," he said. "However, it will do no harm for me to see the young woman. She may come at eleven. What shall I bring you?" V 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL. Othello; i.--3. "Dear John, I will give it up any day you say, and go back to Feltonville and live on the farm; but you know"--