“The whole thing was charming,” answered Mrs. Savage, setting her teeth close and turning away. “The ladies are all delighted. Horace, pray make haste and escort Miss Halstead to her carriage, if she _must_ go; the ladies are dying to thank you for this surprise. How prettily Georgiana entered into our little conspiracy. Good evening, Miss Halstead; be careful and not take cold. Adieu!” “What a charming woman your mother is—so queenly, so gracious,” whispered Eliza, leaning toward her companion. “So magnificently handsome, too. Never in my life did I see a son and mother resemble each other so much. Thank you, Mr. Savage! thank you! If I remember rightly, Rowena gave Ivanhoe her hand to kiss—ungloved, I fancy—there, this once.” Miss Halstead leaned out of the carriage, and held forth her hand, beaming gently upon young Savage, who took the hand, pressed it, bowed over it, and laid it gently back into Miss Halstead’s lap. “I dare not presume! I have not the audacity!” he said. “Adieu! adieu! Believe me, I shall never forget this evening!” “Oh, heavens! nor I!” exclaimed Miss Eliza, kissing her own hand where he had touched it, with infinite relish. “Of all the nights in my life this is my fate!” Young Savage was at a safe distance when Miss Eliza uttered this tender truth; but, as she declared afterward, “Her soul went with him, and joined its home forever more!” As Horace Savage returned, he met Anson Gould, a young man about whom all uppertendom raved, as the most splendid creature that ever lived; so rich, so distinguished, so talented, and so on. “Hollo! Gould! what are you doing here, wandering about like a lost babe in the woods? Searching for my mother, eh?” “No,” answered Gould, laughing; “I am in search of what is called the gentlemen’s dressing-room. Your mother has booked me for Bois Guilbert, with a Rebecca that she promises shall be stunning—a Miss Burns. Tell me who she is, Savage. I do not remember the name in our set.” Savage felt a hot glow coming to his cheek. His light, off-handed way of mentioning that young girl annoyed him exceedingly. “Miss Burns is a friend of my mother’s—not in society yet, I believe,” he answered, quietly. “But I keep you waiting; that is the way to your dressing-room.” “Gould moved on, and, for the first time, young Savage remarked how wonderfully handsome he was. I think he congratulated himself somewhat by remembering that the Templar was also a splendid specimen of a man, and yet Rebecca could not be persuaded to love him. Still the young gentleman’s spirits became somewhat depressed from that moment, and, forgetting that he had promised to make himself generally useful in his mother’s behalf, he crept away into a corner of the audience-chamber, and there, half of the time in semi-darkness, watched the curtain rise and fall, dismissing each picture presented with something like angry impatience.