best of things.

"Ah, the rubs of life--the rubs of life!" Bernard repeated vaguely.

"We must n't mind them," said Gordon, with a conscientious laugh.
"We must toughen our hides; or, at the worst, we must plaster up our
bruises. But why should we choose this particular place and hour for
talking of the pains of life?" he went on. "Are we not in the midst of
its pleasures? I mean, henceforth, to cultivate its pleasures. What
are yours, just now, Bernard? Is n't it supposed that in Paris one must
amuse one's self? How have you been amusing yourself?"

"I have been leading a very quiet life," said Bernard.

"I notice that 's what people always say when they have been
particularly dissipated. What have you done? Whom have you seen that one
knows?"

Bernard was silent a moment.

"I have seen some old friends of yours," he said at last. "I have seen
Mrs. Vivian and her daughter."

"Ah!" Gordon made this exclamation, and then stopped short. Bernard
looked at him, but Gordon was looking away; his eyes had caught some one
in the crowd. Bernard followed the direction they had taken, and then
Gordon went on: "Talk of the devil--excuse the adage! Are not those the
ladies in question?"

Mrs. Vivian and her daughter were, in fact, seated among a great many
other quiet people, in a couple of hired chairs, at the edge of the
great avenue. They were turned toward our two friends, and when Bernard
distinguished them, in the well-dressed multitude, they were looking
straight at Gordon Wright.

"They see you!" said Bernard.

"You say that as if I wished to run away," Gordon answered. "I don't
want to run away; on the contrary, I want to speak to them."

"That 's easily done," said Bernard, and they advanced to the two
ladies.

Mrs. Vivian and her daughter rose from their chairs as they came; they
had evidently rapidly exchanged observations, and had decided that
it would facilitate their interview with Gordon Wright to receive him
standing. He made his way to them through the crowd, blushing deeply,
as he always did when excited; then he stood there bare-headed,
shaking hands with each of them, with a fixed smile, and with nothing,
apparently, to say. Bernard watched Angela's face; she was giving his
companion a beautiful smile. Mrs. Vivian was delicately cordial.

"I was sure it was you," said Gordon at last. "We were just talking of
you."

"Did Mr. Longueville deny it was we?" asked Mrs. Vivian, archly; "after
we had