eme polish was
given to young ladies by Madame de Feuille. By her generous system they
were fitted to be wives of men of even the largest fortune. There was
not one of her pupils who would not have been equal to the addresses of
a millionaire. It is the profound conviction of all who were familiar
with that seminary that the pupils would not have shrunk from marrying
a crown-prince, or any king in any country who confined himself to
Christian wedlock with one wife, or even the son of an English duke--so
perfect was the polish, so liberal the education.

Mrs. Newt's party was select. Mrs. Plumer, Miss Grace Plumer and the
Magots, with Mellish Whitloe, of course; and Mrs. Osborne Moultrie, a
lovely woman from Georgia, and her son Sligo, a slim, graceful gentleman,
with fair hair and eyes; Dr. and Mrs. Lush, Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Maundy, who
came only upon the express understanding that there was to be no dancing,
and a few other agreeable people. It was a Summer party, Abel said--mere
low-necked muslin, strawberries and ice-cream.

The eyes of the strangers of the gentler sex soon discovered the dark,
rich face of Abel, who moved among the groups with the grace and ease of
an accomplished man of society, smiling brightly upon his friends, bowing
gravely to those of his mother's guests whom he did not personally know.

"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Whetwood Tully, who had recently returned with
her daughter, one of Madame de Feuille's finest successes, from a foreign
tour.

"That is my brother Abel," replied Miss Fanny.

"Your brother Abel? how charming! How very like he is to Viscount
Tattersalls. You've not been in England, I believe, Miss Newt?"

Fanny bowed negatively.

"Ah! then you have never seen Lord Tattersalls. He is a very superior
young man. We were very intimate with him indeed. Dolly, dear!"

"Yes, ma."

"You remember our particular friend Lord Viscount Tattersalls?"

"Was he a bishop?" asked Miss Fanny Newt.

"Law! no, my dear. He was a--he was a--why, he was a Viscount, you
know--a Viscount."

"Oh! a Viscount?"

"Yes, a Viscount."

"Ah! a Viscount."

"Well, Dolly dear, do you see how much Mr. Abel Newt resembles Lord
Tattersalls?"

"Yes, ma."

"It's very striking, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma."

"Or now I look, I think he is even more like the Marquis of Crockford.
Don't you think so?"

"Yes, ma?"

"Very like indeed."

"Yes, ma."

"Dolly, dear, don't you think his nose is like the Duke of W