it is with her as it was with the friend of our school-boy days:
'I came, "I was seen," I conquered!' Everybody is mad about her. She is
staying with some country people called the Vaynes, people who would
have passed, like a third _entree_, unnoticed; but they are deluged
with invitations, and 'All on account of Eliza.'"

"Do not be vulgar, Bertie," said Howard, rebukingly.

"Well it was vulgar" admitted Bertie, "especially applied to such an
exquisite creature as Miss Heron--Oh there she is with young Glarn!
They say that he is more than ready to lay his ducal coronet at her
feet--confound the young beggar!--but she doesn't give him the least
encouragement to do so. Look! she doesn't appear to be listening to
him, though he's talking for all he's worth. And it's the same with all
of us: we're all dying with love for her, and for all she cares, we may
die!"

Howard looked across the room and caught a glimpse of a tall, slim
figure, a pale, ivory-tinted face with soft and silky black hair,
dressed in the simplest fashion, and dark, violet eyes half hidden by
their long lashes. It was a lovely face and something more--an
impressive one: it was a face, once seen, not easily forgotten. Perhaps
it was not its beauty, but a certain preoccupied expression, a sadness
in the eyes and in the curve of the expressive lips, which made it so
haunting a one. She was exquisitely dressed, with a suggestion of
mourning in the absence of diamonds and a touch of pale violet in the
black lace frock.

"She is very beautiful," said Howard; "and I can condole with you
sincerely on the loss of your dance."

"Yes, it's nearly over now," said Bertie, with a sigh. "Talking of
Stafford," he said, after a minute, "when did you hear from him last?"

"To-day," replied Howard. "I have his letter in my pocket."

"Still out in the backwoods?" asked Bertie. "Poor old chap! awful piece
of luck for him! If his father had only gone on living and waited until
that blessed company had come right side uppermost, he'd have been a
millionaire. Look at Griffenberg and the rest of 'em!" he nodded
towards the group of financiers; "they're simply rolling in money,
rolling in it."

"Yes, he's still in the backwoods, as you call it," responded Howard;
"and from what he says I should think he's having a pretty hard time of
it; though, of course, he doesn't complain: there are some men still
left who don't complain." There was a pause, during which he had been