his attention for
a moment. A slackening of speed, a halt, and the stage was wedged in one
of the inextricable "jams" on Broadway. Vain the search for _her_ stage
then; looking over the backs of the poor, tired horses, or from the
sidewalk,--here, there, at this one and that one,--all for naught! Stage
and passenger, eyes, little lace bonnet, and all, had vanished away, as
William Surrey confessed, and confessed with reluctance and discontent.

"No matter!" he said presently,--"no matter! I shall see her again. I
know it! I feel it! It is written in the book of the Fates! So now I
shall content me with something"--that looks like her he did not say
definitely, but felt it none the less, as, going over to the
flower-basket near by, he picked out a little nosegay of mignonette and
geranium, with a tea-rosebud in its centre, and pinned it at his
button-hole. "Delicate and fine!" he thought,--"delicate and fine!" and
with the repetition he looked from it down the long street after the
interminable line of stages; and somehow the faint, sweet perfume, and
the fair flower, and the dainty lace bonnet, were mingled in wild and
charming confusion in his brain, till he shook himself, and laughed at
himself, and quoted Shakespeare to excuse himself,--"A mad world, my
masters!"--seeing this poor old earth of ours, as people always do,
through their own eyes.

"God bless ye! and long life to yer honor! and may the blessed Virgin
give ye the desire of yer heart!" called the Irishwoman after him, as he
put back the change in her hand and went gayly up the street. "Sure,
he's somebody's darlint, the beauty! the saints preserve him!" she said,
as she looked from the gold piece in her palm to the fair, sunny head,
watching it till it was lost in the crowd from her grateful eyes.

Evidently this young man was a favorite, for, as he passed along, many a
face, worn by business and care, brightened as he smiled and spoke; many
a countenance stamped with the trade-mark, preoccupied and hard, relaxed
in a kindly recognition as he bowed and went by; and more than one found
time, even in that busy whirl, to glance for a moment after him, or to
remember him with a pleasant feeling, at least till the pavement had
been crossed on which they met,--a long space at that hour of the day,
and with so much more important matters--Bull and Bear, rise and fall,
stock and account--claiming their attention.

Evidently a favorite, for, turning off into on