“And his eyes too starry. Did you not observe, Mary, how they dilated when first they bended their light on the dish of stewed oysters?” “Alice, I believe that if you could, you would jest at your own funeral.” “No; at that pageant you may count on me as chief mourner.” “Ob, Alice!” said Lucy, reprovingly. “Never mind, my dear; I am not so wicked as I seem. Besides, I am rather reckless and desperate just at this moment.” “Why, what is the matter?” “All my aspirations dashed to the ground during one short breakfast!” Alice rested her chin upon her hand, and gazed pensively upon the floor. “What new farce is this?” asked Lucy, amused. “And it is you who ask me that!” And Alice raised her eyes with a sad, reproachful look to those of her friend. “And you call it a farce? _You!_” And she sighed. “Of course,” resumed Alice, quickly raising her head and looking from face to face,—“of course you all noticed it. It was perfectly obvious. Yes, this Miss from the rural districts has swooped down and carried off the prey without an effort.” “I, at least,” said Lucy, coloring, “saw nothing of the kind. In the first place, I sat at one end of the table and he at the other, and I am sure I hardly exchanged a dozen words with him.” “Alas!” sighed Alice, “it is precisely there that the sting lies. I sat by him and had every advantage over you,—and I used every advantage. Didn’t you remark the tone in which I called his attention to the omelet? Could a siren have urged upon him, more seductively, a second cup of coffee? And how gently did I strive to overwhelm his soul with buckwheat cakes! And was the marmalade sweeter than the murmur in which I recommended it? And yet,”—Alice paused for a lull in the tumultuous laughter,—“and yet,” she continued, “strive as I would, I could not keep his eyes from wandering to your end of the table.” “It is very strange,” said Lucy, wiping her eyes, “that all this was lost on me.” “And then,” added Alice, “your most—some one will please attend to the fat lady; she seems in a fit—your most trivial remark, even though not addressed to him, seemed to rivet his attention. To confess the humiliating truth, Mary, I don’t believe he would recognize either of us, should he meet us in the street; but every lineament of Lucy’s face is graven—you know how they say it in novels. It is a regular case of love at first sight, my dear.”