world. As Philip replaced the specimens in his pocket-book, he dropped on the carpet the portrait of the young lady of Boston.
"Ah," said Henrietta, "a young lady. I suppose I may see it."
"On one condition," said Philip, picking it up. "You'll please not to look at the back of the card."
I am very much ashamed to have to tell such things of poor Philip; for in point of fact, the back of the card was a most innocent blank. If Miss Congreve had ventured to disobey him, he would have made a very foolish figure. But there was so little that was boisterous in Henrietta's demeanor, that Osborne felt that he ran no risk.
"Who is she?" asked Henrietta, looking at the portrait. "She's charming."
"She's a Miss Thompson, of Philadelphia."
"Dear me, not Dora Thompson, assuredly."
"No indeed," said Philip, a little nervously. "Her name's not Dora—nor anything like it."
"You needn't resent the insinuation, sir. Dora's a very pretty name."
"Yes, but her own is prettier."
"I'm very curious to hear it."
Philip suddenly found himself in deep waters. He struck out blindly and anwered at random, "Angelica."
Miss Congreve smiled—somewhat ironically, it seemed to Philip. "Well," she said, "I like her face better than her name."
"Dear me, if you come to that, so do I!" cried Philip, with a laugh.
"Tell me about her, Mr. Osborne," pursued Henrietta. "She must be, with that face and figure, just the nicest girl in the world."
"Well, well, well," said Philip, leaning back in his chair, and looking at the ceiling—"perhaps she is—or at least, you'll excuse me if I say I think she is."
"I should think it inexcusable if you didn't say so," said Henrietta, giving him the card. "I'm sure I've seen her somewhere.
"Very likely. She comes to New York," said Philip. And he thought it prudent, on the whole, to divert the conversation to another topic. Miss Congreve remained silent and he fancied pensive. Was she jealous of Angelica Thompson? It seemed to Philip that, without fatuity, he might infer that she was, and that she was too proud to ask questions.
Mrs. Wilkes had enabled Mrs. Dodd to send tidings to her hostess of her whereabouts, and had promised to furnish her with an escort on her return. When Mrs. Dodd prepared to take her leave, Philip, finding himself also ready to depart, offered to walk home with her.
"Well, sir," said the lady, when they had left the house, "your little game seems to be getting on."
Philip said nothing.
"Ah, Mr. Osborne," said Mrs. Dodd, with ill-concealed impatience, "I'm afraid you're too good for it."
"Well, I'm afraid I am."
"If you hadn't been in such a hurry to agree with me," said Mrs. Dodd, " I should have said that I meant, in other words, that you're too stupid."
"Oh, I agree to that, too," said Philip.
The next day he received a letter from his partner in business, telling him of a great pressure of work, and urging him to return at his earliest convenience. "We are told," added this gentleman, "of a certain Miss ——, I forget the
