g so
improbable happening as that Millard should fall in love with a lady
without fortune, say, for example, a clergyman's daughter, his
acquaintance with so prosperous a man as Hilbrough, who could help him
to lucrative investments, might be very desirable. These thoughts were
the mere bubbles of fancy floating in her mind. The consideration which
most affected her decision was that the presentation of her niece under
the auspices of Millard and herself might prove of great social
advantage to Phillida.

Millard left Mrs. Gouverneur with the intention of calling at once on
Miss Callender, but when he reached Broadway he was smitten with a
scruple, not of conscience, but of etiquette. Phillida had not asked him
to call. After staring for a full minute in perplexity at the passing
vehicles and the facade of the ancient theater on the opposite side of
Broadway, then in its last days of existence, he presently concluded
that Miss Callender, being a young woman somewhat unsophisticated, and
having therefore nothing better than good sense for guide, would
probably not be shocked by the audacity of an uninvited call from a
gentleman whose character was well known to her.

The bell rang as Mrs. Callender was just about to try a dress on her
daughter Agatha. Callers were not a frequent interruption to their
pursuits, and when the steps of a man ushered into the front parlor were
heard through the sliding doors, they concluded that it was some one
calling on the gentleman who occupied the second floor. Mrs. Callender
and her daughters lowered their voices to a whisper, that they might not
be heard through the doors; but Sarah, the servant, came to the back
parlor, and said loud enough to be distinctly audible to the visitor:

"It's some cards for Mrs. Callender and Miss Callender." Then she shut
the door and descended the basement stairs, without waiting to carry a
reply.

Agatha took the cards and whispered, "Mr. Millard," biting her lower lip
and making big eyes at Phillida, with an "I-told-you-so" nod of the
head, and then she proceeded to give vent to her feelings by dancing
softly about the room, a picturesque figure in her red petticoat and
white waist, with her bare arms flying about her head. If the doors had
not been so thin her excitement would have found vent in more noisy
ways. As noise was precluded there was nothing left for her but this
dumb show. In her muffled gyrations she at length knocked a chair over
up