ction, but is deeply hurt that the girl, who has been so
constantly in his thoughts during his two years of loneliness, should
so persistently ignore him. That she has occupied so great a share of
his time for thinking is due largely to the fact that there is no one
else to take a like place, for Rose Bonnifay long since released him
from his engagement to her, and he has contracted no other.

As soon as he believed his _fiancee_ to be in New York, he wrote her a
long letter descriptive of his good-fortune and promising very soon to
rejoin her for the fulfilling of his engagement. To his amazement it
was promptly returned to him, endorsed on the outside in Miss
Bonnifay's well-known handwriting.

"As my last to you came back to me unopened, I now take
pleasure in returning yours in the same condition."

He immediately wrote again, only to have his second letter treated as
the first had been, except that this time it came to him without a
word. From that day he had heard nothing further from Rose Bonnifay.

Now business had called him to New York, and he had reached the city
but an hour before his appearance at the club. Here he gazed curiously
about him, as one long strange to such scenes, but who hopes to
discover the face of a friend in that of each new-comer. Thus far he
had not been successful, nor had he been recognized by any of the men,
many of them in evening-dress, who came and went through the spacious
rooms. Peveril was also in evening-dress, for he had conceived a vague
idea of going to some theatre, or possibly to the opera. And now he
listlessly glanced over the advertised list of attractions in an
afternoon paper.

While he was thus engaged, a young man, faultlessly apparelled and
pleasing to look upon, stood in front of him, regarded him steadily
for a moment, and then grasped his hand, exclaiming:

"If it isn't old Dick Peveril--come to life again after an age of
burial! My dear fellow, I am awfully glad to see you. Where have you
been, and what have you been doing all these years? Heard you had gone
West to look up a mine, but never a word since. Hope you found it and
that it turned out better than such properties generally do. Was it
gold, silver, iron, or what?"

"You may imagine its nature from its name," answered Peveril, who was
genuinely glad to meet again his old college friend, Jack Langdon; "it
is called the 'Copper Princess.'"

"The 'Copper Princess'!" cried the other. "By Jove!