"That's another rival for you, Colonel Lunettes," exclaimed one of the girls.
"I fear my doom is sealed!" returned the old
soldier thus addressed, with an air of mock resignation. "But who is this formidable youth, Miss Campbell?"
"A Bostonian, I believe," replied the young lady; "cousin Charley introduced him to us at Mrs. Gay's ball the other evening, and asked us to call upon his mother and sister—they are friends of his. He was here this morning with cousin Charley, but we were out."
"How stylish!" said one of our critical circle, re-examining the elegant billet of the stranger.
"Quite au fait, too, you see, young ladies," I added, "he invites Miss Fanny to go with a proper chaperon to the concert, as he is so slightly acquainted with her."
As I limped across the room towards them, I heard my friend say to his daughter, who still retained her seat, "certainly, unless you prefer to go with Mr. Blakeman."
"Oh, pa!" protested the sweet girl, "but what excuse shall I make to Mr. Blakeman?"
"Tell him, in terms, that your father does not permit you to go anywhere, alone, with a young man with whom he has no acquaintance—Lunettes, you're not going?" rising as he spoke.
"It is high time—my carriage must be waiting. Miss Fanny, permit me the privilege of an old friend,"—kissing her glowing cheek—and, as she skipped out into the hall with her father and me, I whispered—"About this young Bostonian? Is it all over with him?"