ded into two suites, one
in gold leather and blue for Sir Peter and his lady, the other in
crimson damask for guests. The third floor, mine, was similarly
divided, I occupying the Wall Street side, with windows on that
fashionable street and also on Broadway.

Thus it happened that, instead of entering the south drawing-room where
I saw the ladies at the card-table playing Pharaoh, I turned to the
right and crossed the north, or "state drawing-room," and parted the
curtains, looking across Broadway to see if I might spy my friend the
drover and his withered little mate. No doubt prudence and a dislike
for the patrol kept them off Broadway at that hour, for I could not see
them, although a few street lamps were lit and I could make out
wayfarers as far north as Crown Street.

Standing there in the dimly lighted room, my nose between the parted
curtains, I heard my name pronounced very gently behind me, and,
turning, beheld Miss Grey, half lying on a sofa in a distant corner. I
had not seen her when I entered, my back being turned to the east, and
I said so, asking pardon for an unintentional rudeness--which she
pardoned with a smile, slowly waving her scented fan.

"I am a little tired," she said; "the voyage from Halifax was rough,
and I have small love for the sea, so, Lady Coleville permitting, I
came in here to rest from the voices and the glare of too bright
candle-light. Pray you be seated, Mr. Renault--if it does not displease
you. What were you looking for from the window yonder?"

"Treason," I said gaily. "But the patrol should be able to see to that.
May I sit here a moment?"

"Willingly; I like men."

Innocence or coquetry, I was clean checked. Her white eyelids languidly
closing over the pure eyes of a child gave me no clue.

"All men?" I inquired.

"How silly! No, very few men. But that is because I only know a few."

"And may I dare to hope that--" I began in stilted gallantry, cut short
by her opening eyes and smile. "Of course I like you, Mr. Renault. Can
you not see that? It's a pity if you can not, as all the others tease
me so about you. Do you like me?"

"Very, _very_ much," I replied, conscious of that accursed color burning
my face again; conscious, too, that she noted it with calm curiosity.

"Very, _very_ much," she repeated, musing. "Is that why you blush so
often, Mr. Renault--because you like me very, _very_ much?"

Exasperated, I strove to smile. I couldn't; and dignity would not