chimed remotely in his ears, like the distant
roar of a tempest-tossed sea, and what had once
been a perpetual annoyance was now a sweet
memory. How often with Edith at his side had
he threaded his way through the surging crowds
that pour, on a fine afternoon, in an unceasing
current up and down the street between Union
and Madison Squares. How friendly, and sweet,
and gracious, Edith had been at such times;
how fresh her voice, how witty and animated
her chance remarks when they stopped to greet
a passing acquaintance; and, above all, how
inspiring the sight of her heavenly beauty.
Now that was all past. Perhaps he should
never see Edith again.

The next day he sauntered through the city,
meeting some old friends, who all seemed
changed and singularly uninteresting. They
were all engaged or married, and could talk of
nothing but matrimony, and their prospects of
advancement in the Government service. One
had an influential uncle who had been a chum
of the present minister of finance; another based
his hopes of future prosperity upon the family
connections of his betrothed, and a third was
waiting with a patient perseverance, worthy of
a better cause, for the death or resignation of
an antiquated chef-de-bureau, which, according
to the promise of some mighty man, would open