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er known. As for money, I had my salary when it was convenient for Sir Peter; I had a small income of my own, long pledged to Colonel Willett's secret uses. It was understood that Sir Peter should find me in apparel; I had credit at Sir Peter's tailor, and at his hatter's and bootmaker's, too. Twice a year my father sent me from Paris a sum which was engaged to maintain a bed or two in the Albany hospital for our soldiers. I make no merit of it, for others gave more. So, it is plain to see I had no money for those fashionable vices in the midst of which I lived, and if I lost five shillings at whist I felt that I had robbed some wretched creature on the _Jersey_, or dashed the cup from some poor devil's lips who lay a-gasping in the city prison. My finery, then, was part and parcel of my salary--my salary in guineas already allotted; so it came about that I moved in a loose and cynical society, untainted only through force of circumstance and a pride that accepts nothing which it may not return at interest. * * * * * When I descended to the dining-room I found all seated, and so asked pardon of Lady Coleville, who was gay and amiable as usual, and, "for a penance," as she said, made me sit beside her. That was no penance, for she was a beauty and a wit, her dainty head swimming with harmless mischief; and besides knowing me as she did, she was monstrous amusing in a daring yet delicate fashion, which she might not use with any other save her husband. That, as I say, was therefore no penance, but my punishment was to see Elsin Grey far across the table on Sir Peter's right, and to find in my other neighbor a lady whose sole delight in me was to alternately shock me with broad pleasantries and torment me with my innocence. [Illustration: My punishment was to see Elsin Grey far across the table.] Rosamund Barry was her name, Captain Barry's widow--he who fell at Breeds Hill in '76--the face of a Madonna, and the wicked wit of a lady whose name she bore, _sans La du_. "Carus," she said, leaning too near me and waving her satin painted fan, "is it true you have deserted me for a fairer conquest?" "The rumor nails itself to the pillory," I said; "who is fairer than you, Rosamund?" "You beg the question," she said severely, the while her dark eyes danced a devil's shadow dance; "if you dare go tiptoeing around the skirts of the Hon. Miss Grey, I'll tell her all--_a
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