le Fanny, plunging into
conversation at once with an ease and fluency that completely took away
Tom's breath. That despondent wooer on the sofa, beside Mrs. Walters,
pulled dejectedly at the ears of her little black-and-tan terrier, and
answered at random all the pleasant things she said to him. He was
listening, poor fellow, to that brilliant flow of small talk from the
mustached lips of his dashing friend, and wishing the gods had gifted
him with a similar "gift of the gab," and feeling miserably jealous
already. He had prepared the rack for himself with his eyes wide open;
but that made the torture none the less when the machinery got in
motion. Pretty Fanny snubbed him incontinently, and was just as
bewitching as she knew how to his friend. It was a clear case of diamond
cut diamond--two flirts pitted against each other; and an outsider
would have been considerably puzzled on which to bet, both being so
evenly matched.

Tom listened, and sulked; yes, sulked. What a lot of things they found
to talk about, where he used to be tongue-tied. The magazine, the
fashion-plates, the stories; then a wild launch into literature, novels,
authors, poets; then the weather; then Mr. Warden was travelling, and
relating his "hair-breadth escapes by flood and field," while
bright-eyed Fanny listened in breathless interest. Then the open piano
caught the irresistible Paul's eyes, and in a twinkling there was Fanny
seated at it, her white fingers flying over the polished keys, and he
bending above her with an entranced face. Then he was singing a
delightful love-song in a melodious tenor voice, that might have
captivated any heart that ever beat inside of lace and muslin; and then
Fanny was singing a sort of response, it seemed to frantically jealous
Tom; and then it was eleven o'clock, and time to go home.

Out in the open air, with the rainy night wind blowing bleakly, Tom
lifted his hat to let the cold blast cool his hot face. He was sulky
still, and silent--very silent; but Mr. Warden didn't seem to mind.

"So," he said, lighting a cigar, "the campaign has begun, the first blow
has been struck, the enemy's ramparts undermined. Upon my word, Tom, the
little girl is uncommonly pretty!"

"I told you so," said Tom, with a sort of growl.

"And remarkably agreeable. I don't think I ever spent a pleasanter
_tete-a-tete_ evening."

"So I should judge. She had eyes, and ears, and tongue for no one but
you."

"My dear fellow, it's n