by the healthy exercise and the novelty of the scene. But more
alluring than the pleasant landscape and the fragrant air was the hope
that, if he returned late, the young ladies might be on the piazza,
or visible at the windows. He was destined to be disappointed. As he
passed, a curtain was slowly withdrawn from one of the windows and
revealed a vase of flowers. He rode slowly, in hopes of seeing a face
bend over the flowers; but the person who drew the curtain remained
invisible. On the piazza nothing was in motion, except the peacock
strutting along, stately as a court beauty, and drawing after him
his long train of jewelled plumage. A voice, joyous as a bobolink's,
sounded apparently from the garden. He could not hear the words, but
the lively tones at once suggested, "Petit blanc, mon bon frère." He
recalled the words so carelessly uttered, "Of course not, for she was
a quadroon," and they seemed to make harsh discord with the refrain of
the song. He remembered the vivid flush that passed over Rosa's face
while her playful sister teased her with that tuneful badinage. It
seemed to him that Mr. Fitzgerald was well aware of his power, for
he had not attempted to conceal his consciousness of the singer's
mischievous intent. This train of thought was arrested by the inward
question, "What is it to _me_ whether he marries her or not?"
Impatiently he touched his horse with the whip, as if he wanted to
rush from the answer to his own query.

He had engaged to meet Mr. Royal at his counting-house, and he was
careful to keep the appointment. He was received with parental
kindness slightly tinged with embarrassment. After some conversation
about business, Mr. Royal said: "From your silence concerning your
visit to my house last evening, I infer that Mr. Fitzgerald has given
you some information relating to my daughters' history. I trust, my
young friend, that you have not suspected me of any intention to