st style, wore a blue broadcloth frock coat, cut
very low and tight in the waist, with a coat-collar rolling back to
reveal a vast expanse of shirt-bosom, surmounted by a cravat of awful
splendor, bow-knotted and blue-fringed. His trousers were of white
duck, his boots lacquered, and he carried a gold-tipped cane in his
hand. So he walked up the narrow old streets from the wharf, making a
sunshine in those shady places. It was the hottest hour of a midsummer
afternoon; not a soul was stirring, and Pinckney was left to his own
pleasant meditations.

He got up the hill and turned into the park by the old mill; over
opposite was the great hotel, its piazzas deserted, silent even to the
hotel band. But one flutter of a white dress he saw beneath the trees,
and then it disappeared behind them, causing Pinckney to quicken his
steps. He thought he knew the shape and motion, and he followed it
until he came upon it suddenly, behind the trees, and it turned.

A young girl of wonderful beauty, rare, erect carriage, and eyes of a
strange, violet-gray, full of much meaning. This was all Pinckney had
time to note; it was no one he had ever seen before. He had gone up
like a hunter, sure of his game, and too far in it to retract. The
embarrassment of the situation was such that Pinckney forgot all his
cleverness of manner, and blurted out the truth like any schoolboy.

"I beg pardon--I was looking for Miss Austin," said he; and he raised
his hat.

A delightful smile of merriment curled the beauty's lips. "My
acquaintance with Miss Austin is too slight to justify my finding her
for you; but I wish you all success in your efforts," she said, and
vanished, leaving the promising young lawyer to blush at his own
awkwardness and wonder who she was. As she disappeared, he only saw
that her hair was a lustrous coil of pale gold-brown, borne proudly.

He soon found Emily Austin, and forgot the beauty, as he gave his
betrothed a kiss and saw her color heighten; and in the afternoon they
took a long drive. It was only at tea, as he was sitting at table with
the Austins in the long dining-room, that some one walked in like a
goddess; and it was she. He asked her name; and they told him it was a
Miss Warfield, of Baltimore, and she was engaged to a Mr. Breeze.

In the evening there was a ball; and as they were dancing (for every
one danced in those days) he saw her again, sitting alone this time and
unattended. She was looking eagerly acros