cted--there was only a weariness and indifference, as if she had been
worsted in some kind of struggle. She did not even seem to be excited by
seeing Hope Wayne in her house, but merely said, "Good-morning," and then
sank quietly upon the sofa, as if she had said every thing she had to
say.

"I came to ask you if you know any thing about Abel?" said Hope.

"No; nothing in particular," replied Fanny; "I believe he's going to
Congress; but I never see him or hear of him."

"Doesn't Alfred see him?"

"He used to meet him at Thiel's; but Alfred doesn't go there much now.
It's too fine for poor gentlemen. I remember some time ago I saw he had a
black eye, and he said that he and my 'd---- brother Abel,' as he
elegantly expressed it, had met somewhere the night before, and Abel was
drunk and gave him the lie, and they fought it out. I think, by-the-way,
that's the last I've heard of brother Abel."

There was a slight touch of the old manner in the tone with which
Fanny ended her remark; after which she relapsed into the previous
half-apathetic condition.

"Fanny, I wish I could do something for Abel."

Fanny Dinks looked at Hope Wayne with an incredulous smile, and said,

"I thought once you would marry him; and so did he, I fancy."

"What does he do? and how can I reach him?" asked Hope, entirely
disregarding Fanny's remark.

"He lives at the old place in Grand Street, I believe; the Lord knows
how; I'm sure I don't. I suppose he gambles when he isn't drunk."

"But about Congress?" inquired Hope.

"I don't know any thing about that. Abel and father used to say that no
gentleman would ever have any thing to do with politics; so I never heard
any thing, and I'm sure I don't know what he's going to do."

Fanny apparently supposed her last remark would end the conversation. Not
that she wished to end it--not that she was sorry to see Hope Wayne again
and to talk with her--not that she wanted or cared for any thing in
particular, no, not even for her lord and master, who burst into the room
with an oath, as usual, and with his small, swinish eyes heavy with
drowsiness.

The master of the house was evidently just down. He wore a dirty
morning-gown, and slippers down at the heel, displaying his dirty
stockings. He came in yawning and squeezing his eves together.

"Why the h---- don't that slut of a waiter have my coffee ready?" he said
to his wife, who paid no more attention to him than to the lamp on the
mantle,