"Oh-h-h," says Grace Plumer, in a long-drawn exclamation. "And then?" "Why, Miss Grace, how insatiable you are!--then I came away." "You did? I wouldn't have come away." "No, Miss Grace, you didn't." "How--I didn't? What does that mean, Mr. Moultrie?" "I mean the Princess remained." "So you said. Is that all?" "No." "Well." "Oh! the rest is nothing. I mean nothing new." "Let me hear the old story, then, Mr. Moultrie." "The rest is merely that the Princess found that the fiery eyes burned her and the eloquent tongue stung her, and truly that is the whole. Isn't it a pretty story? The moral is that cages are sometimes traps." Sligo Moultrie becomes suddenly extremely attentive to Miss Magot. Grace Plumer ponders many things, and among others wonders how, when, where, Sligo Moultrie learned to talk in parables. She does not ask herself _why_ he does so. She is a woman, and she knows why. CHAPTER L. WINE AND TRUTH. The conversation takes a fresh turn. Corlaer Van Boozenberg is talking of the great heiress, Miss Wayne. He has drunk wine enough to be bold, and calls out aloud from his end of the table, "Mr. Abel Newt!" That gentleman turns his head toward his guest. "We are wondering down here how it is that Miss Wayne went away from New York unengaged." "I am not her confidant," Abel answers; and gallantly adds, "I am sure, like every other man, I should be glad to be so." "But you had the advantage of every body else." "How so?" asks Abel, conscious that Grace Plumer is watching him closely. "Why, you were at school in Delafield until you were no chicken." Abel bows smilingly. "You must have known her." "Yes, a little." "Well, didn't you know what a stunning heiress she was, and so handsome! How'd you, of all men in the world, let her slip through your fingers?" A curious silence follows this effusion. Corlaer Van Boozenberg is slightly flown with wine. Hal Battlebury, who sits near him, looks troubled. Herbert Octoyne and Mellish Whitloe exchange meaning glances. The young ladies--Mrs. Plumer is the only matron, except Mrs. Dagon, who sits below--smile pleasantly. Sligo Moultrie eats grapes. Grace Plumer waits to hear what Abel says, or to observe what he does. Mrs. Dagon regards the whole affair with an approving smile, nodding almost imperceptibly a kind of Freemason's sign to Mrs. Plumer, who thinks that the worthy young Van Boozenberg has probably taken too much wine. Abel Newt quietly turns to Grace Plumer, saying, "Poor Corlaer! There are disadvantages in being the son of a very rich man; one is so strongly inclined to measure every thing by money.. As if money were all!"