s, and who had hitherto declined all society. It was
well known that she was in town. The beautiful Boston heiress was often
enough the theme of discourse among the youth at Abel's rooms.

"Is she really going to marry that Dinks? Why, the man's a donkey!" said
Corlaer Van Boozenberg.

"And are there no donkeys among your married friends?" inquired Abel,
with the air of a naturalist pursuing his researches.

One day, indeed, as he was passing Stewart's, he saw Hope alighting from
a carriage. He was not alone; and as he passed their eyes met. He bowed
profoundly. She bent her head without speaking, as one acknowledges a
slight acquaintance. It was not a "cut," as Abel said to himself; "not at
all. It was simply ranking me with the herd."

"Who's that stopping to speak with her?" asked Corlaer, as he turned back
to see her.

"That's Arthur Merlin. Don't you know? He's a painter. I wonder how the
deuce he came to know her!"

In fact, it was the painter. It was the first time he had met her
since the summer days of Saratoga; and as he stood talking with her
upon the sidewalk, and observed that her cheeks had an unusual flush,
and her manner a slight excitement, he could not help feeling a secret
pleasure--feeling, in truth, so deep a delight, as he looked into that
lovely face, that he found himself reflecting, as he walked away, how
very fortunate it was that he was so entirely devoted to his art. It
is very fortunate indeed, thought he. And yet it might be a pity, too,
if I should chance to meet some beautiful and sympathetic woman; because,
being so utterly in love with my art, it would be impossible for me to
fall in love with her! Quite impossible! Quite out of the question!

Just as he thought this he bumped against some one, and looked up
suddenly. A calm, half-amused face met his glance, as Arthur said,
hastily, "I beg your pardon."

"My pardon is granted," returned the gentleman; "but still you had better
look out for yourself."

"Oh! I shall not hit any body else," said Arthur, as he bowed and was
passing on.

"I am not speaking of other people," replied the other, with a look which
was very, friendly, but very puzzling.

"Whom do you mean, then?" asked Arthur Merlin.

"Yourself, of course," said the gentleman with the half-amused face.

"How?" inquired Arthur.

"To guard against Venus rising from the fickle sea, or Hope descending
from a carriage," rejoined his companion, putting out his hand.