ting you on your favorite promenade reminded me how
recreant are men. Heigho! and alas! You may hand me to my chair before
you leave me to go ogling Broad Street for your Sacharissa."

I conducted her to the curb in silence, tucking her perfumed skirts in
as she seated herself. The bearers resumed the bars, and I, hat under
one arm and stick at a fashionable angle, strolled along beside the
chair as it proceeded up Wall Street. It was but a step to Broadway. I
opened the chair door and aided her to descend, then dismissed the
bearers and walked slowly with her toward the stoop.

"This silence is truly soothing," she observed, nose in the air, "but
one can not expect everything, Mr. Renault."

"What is it that you lack?" I asked.

"A man to talk to," she said disdainfully. "For goodness sake, Carus,
change that sulky face for a brighter mask and find a civil word for
me. I do not aspire to a compliment, but, for mercy's sake, say
something!"

"Will you walk with me a little way?" I inquired stiffly.

"Walk with you? Oh, what pleasure! Where? On Broadway? On Crown Street?
On Queen Street? Or do you prefer Front Street and Old Slip? I wish to
be perfectly agreeable, Carus, and I'll do anything to please you, even
to running away with you in an Italian chaise!"

"I may ask you to do that, too," I said.

"Ask me, then! Mercy on the man! was there ever so willing a maid? Give
me a moment to fetch a sun-mask and I'm off with you to any revel you
please--short of the Coq d'Or," she added, with a daring laugh--"and I
might be persuaded to that--as far as the cherry-trees--with _you_,
Carus, and let my reputation go hang!"

We had walked on into Broadway and along the foot-path under the
lime-trees where the robins were singing that quaint evening melody I
love, and the pleasant scent of grass and salt breeze mingled in
exquisite freshness.

"I had a dish of tea with some very agreeable people in Queen Street,"
she remarked. "Lady Coleville is there still. I took Mrs. Barry's chair
to buy me a hat--and how does it become me?" she ended, tipping her
head on one side for my inspection.

"It is modish," I replied indifferently.

"Certainly it is modish," she said dryly--"a Gunning hat, and cost a
penny, too. Oh, Carus, when I think what that husband of mine must pay
to maintain me----"

"What husband?" I said, startled.

"Why, _any_ husband!" She made a vague gesture. "Did I say that I had
picked him out yet, silly