urn from roses to violets. Miss Tully, I am
sure, is charming. I would go with you with all my heart if I could,"
said he, smiling and looking at Miss Plumer; "but, you see, all my heart
is going here."

Grace Plumer blushed again. He was certainly a charming young man.

Fanny Newt, with lips parted, looked at him a moment and shook her
head gently. Abel was sure she would happen to find herself in the
conservatory presently, whither he and his companion slowly passed.
It was prettily illuminated with a few candles, but was left purposely
dim.

"How lovely it is here! Oh! how fond I am of flowers!" said Miss Plumer,
with the prettiest little rapture, and such a little spring that Abel was
obliged to hold her arm more closely.

"Are you fond of flowers, Mr. Newt?"

"Yes; but I prefer them living."

"Living flowers--what a poetic idea! But what do you mean?" asked Grace
Plumer, hanging her head.

Abel saw somebody on the cane sofa under the great orange-tree, almost
hidden in the shade. Dear Fanny! thought he.

"My dear Grace," began Abel, in his lowest, sweetest voice; but the
conservatory was so still that the words could have been easily heard
by any one sitting upon the sofa.

Some one was sitting there--some one did hear. Abel smiled in his heart,
and bent more closely to his companion. His manner was full of tender
devotion. He and Grace came nearer. Some one not only heard, but started.
Abel raised his eyes smilingly to meet Fanny's. Somebody else started
then; for under the great orange-tree, on the cane sofa, sat Lawrence
Newt and Hope Wayne.

CHAPTER XVIII.

OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.

Lawrence Newt had called at Bunker's, and found Mrs. Dinks and Miss
Hope Wayne. They were sitting at the window upon Broadway watching the
promenaders along that famous thoroughfare; for thirty years ago the
fashionable walk was between the Park and the Battery, and Bunker's was
close to Morris Street, a little above the Bowling Green.

When Mr. Newt was announced Hope Wayne felt as if she were suffocating.
She knew but one person of that name. Her aunt supposed it to be the
husband of her friend, Mrs. Nancy Newt, whom she had seen upon a previous
visit to New York this same summer. They both looked up and saw a
gentleman they had never seen before. He bowed pleasantly, and said,

"Ladies, my name is Lawrence Newt."

There was a touch of quaintness in his manner, as in his dress.

"You will find the city qui