floated through the room, I was where I saw
the white sea-birds flashing between the blue deeps of our summer
sea and sky, and the dark rocks that rose and dipped in the murmuring
waves.

CHAPTER XXIX.

One pleasant afternoon Adelaide and I started on a walk. We must go
through the crooked length of Norfolk Street, till we reached the
outskirts of Belem, and its low fields not yet green; that was the
fashionable promenade, she said. After the two o'clock dinner, Belem
walked. All her acquaintances seemed to be in the street, so many bows
were given and returned with ceremony. Nothing familiar was attempted,
nothing beyond the courtliness of an artificial smile.

Returning, we met Desmond with a lady, and a series of bows took
place. Desmond held his hat in his hand till we had passed; his
expression varied so much from what it was when I saw him last, at the
breakfast table, he being in a desperate humor then, that it served me
for mental comment for some minutes.

"That is Miss Brewster," said Adelaide. "She is an heiress, and
fancies Desmond's attentions: she will not marry him, though."

"Is every woman in Belem an heiress?"

"Those we talk about are, and every man is a fortune-hunter. Money
marries money; those who have none do not marry. Those who wait hope.
But the great fortunes of Belem are divided; the race of millionaires
is decaying."

"Is that Ann yonder?"

"I think so, from that bent bonnet."

It proved to be Ann, who went by us with the universal bow and
grimace, sacrificing to the public spirit with her fine manners. She
turned soon, however, and overtook us, proposing to make a detour
to Drummond Street, where an intimate family friend, "Old Hepburn,"
lived, so that the prospect of our going to tea with her might be made
probable by her catching a passing glimpse of us; at this time
she must be at the window with her Voltaire, or her Rousseau. The
proposition was accepted, and we soon came near the house, which
stood behind a row of large trees, and looked very dismal, with
three-fourths of its windows barred with board shutters.

"Walk slow," Ann entreated. "I see her blinking at us. She has not
shed her satin pelisse yet."

Before we got beyond it a dirty little girl came out of the gate, in
a pair of huge shoes and a canvas apron, which covered her, to call us
back. Mrs. Hepburn had seen us, and wished us to come in, wanting to
know who Miss Adelaide had with her, and to ta