He was a young New Yorker--one of the _jeunesse dorée_--returning home after three months’ absence. On the first day out he had fallen a victim to Cinthia’s charms, and gladly renewed a former acquaintance with Madame Ray, in order to secure an introduction to the beauty. As the actress knew him to be in every respect a most desirable _parti_, she was very glad to present him to Cinthia, secretly hoping that he might manage to supplant Arthur Varian in her tender heart. Cinthia certainly found him interesting, he was so good-looking, with his six feet of athletic manhood, flashing dark eyes, and jetty hair and mustache, while with his ready flow of small-talk he was very amusing. She accepted his patent admiration and his respectful attentions with the coolness of a belle accustomed to adulation, letting him entertain her when she chose, and carelessly dismissing him when not in the mood. Her mood was not very propitious now, and it was a very cold smile she gave in answer to his remark that she must have left her heart behind on foreign shores. “All the heart I have I brought back with me, although I must confess to a fondness for the Old World,” she answered; adding: “I am not enthusiastic over my return, because I have really no near relatives in America, and papa and I intend to resume our wanderings in our own country after a short rest.” Frederick Foster exclaimed, eagerly: “May I be permitted to know where the foot of the dove will first rest?” “I think we shall probably spend a few days at Newport while maturing our plans,” Cinthia answered, carelessly. Foster’s handsome countenance beamed with frank delight. He cried, joyously: “To Newport? How glad I am! Why, that is where I am going.” “Indeed?” smiled Cinthia. “Yes, if you do not forbid my following you there, which I should certainly do, even if I had not already made my plans. Oh, please don’t frown upon me so, for, indeed I have promised my aunt and cousin--who are there from the South--that I will stay there with them a while. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if Arthur came to New York just to meet me.” Arthur--Arthur! The name struck her sharply, like a blow. She shut her lips tightly, and turned her head aside, lest he should see the mortal paleness that she felt overspreading it, while she chided herself for her weakness. “Archie Dean, Archie Dean!--’tis the sweetest name I know, ’Tis writ on my heart; but o’er it now is drifting the cold, cold snow.” Suddenly a great shout arose from the crowd on deck. They were steaming majestically into port, and on the shore they saw eager throngs of friends waiting to welcome their loved ones home. Answering shouts came back from the pier, and handkerchiefs were waved while glad tears started into many eyes, it was such a glorious thing to be safe in port, having weathered all the dangers of the sea.