One evening he left the crowded piazza of the hotel, and, intending to flirt with solitude and a cigar, walked towards a rustic arbor, overgrown with a wild grape vine, and standing among a cluster of young elms at the foot of the garden. As he drew near, he saw the gleam of ladies' dresses, and found the seats already occupied by Miss Fanny Euston and two companions. Morton knew them well, and joined the party. As neither the affected graces of the one companion nor the voluble emptiness of the other had much interest in his eyes, he directed his conversation chiefly to Fanny. In a few minutes the two girls exchanged glances, rose, and alleging some pretended engagement, returned to the hotel, bent on making this casual interview assume the air of a flirtation. Morton and his companion sat for a moment in silence. "We are cousins--are we not?" said the former, at length. "At least they would call us so in the Highlands." "Then give me a cousin's privilege, and allow me to be personal. Are you not out of spirits to-night?" "Why do you think me so?" "From your look and manner." "Are you not tired to death of New Baden?" "Not yet." "I am. What is it all worth?--weary, and vapid, and flat, and stale, and unprofitable! I have had enough of it." "Then why not change it?" "To find the same thing in a new shape!" "Pardon me if I call that a freak of the moment. You are the gayest of the gay." "No, I am not." "You are a belle here; a centre light. The moths flutter about you, though you do, now and then, singe their wings. You frighten them, and they repay you with fine speeches." "I am weary of them. For Heaven's sake, abuse me a little. I know you have it often in your heart." "Abuse is sometimes nothing but flattery in disguise." "Why do you smile? That smile was at my expense." "Why should you imagine so?" "I insist on your telling me its meaning." "I was only thinking that when tribute in an old shape has become wearisome, one may like to have it paid in a new one." "That certainly is not flattery. Do you know I am beginning to be afraid of you?" "I could not have thought you afraid of any one." "Yes, I am afraid of you." "Why?" "Because you are always observing me. Because you penetrate my thoughts and understand me thoroughly." "I am less deep than you suppose." "At least you know all my faults. You are always, in a quiet way, making gibes and sarcasms at my expense, and touching upon my weakest points." "Does it make you angry?" "No; I rather like it; but I wish to repay you. I wish to find your weaknesses, but cannot. Have you any?" "Yes, an abundance." "And will you tell me what they are?" "What, that you may use them against me! The moment you know them, you will attack me without mercy; and if you see me wince, it is all over with me." "What do you mean?"