"She is gone,—left me without a word."
"Who, the Sandford woman? I always told you she would."
"No,—I left her, though not so soon as I should."
"A fine story! She jilted you."
"No,—on my honor. I'll tell you about it some other time. But Alice, my betrothed, I have lost her forever."
"Melancholy Orpheus, how? Did you look over your shoulder, and did she vanish into smoke?"
"It is her father who has gone over the Styx. She is in life; but she has heard of my flirtation"—
"And served you right by leaving you. Now you will quit capering in a lady's chamber, and go to work, a sadder and a wiser man."
"Not till I have found her. You may think me a trifler, Easelmann; but every nerve I have is quivering with agony at the thought of the pain I have caused her."
"Whew-w-w." said Easelmann. "Found her? Then she's eloped too! I just left a disconsolate lover mourning over a runaway mistress. It seems to be epidemic. There is a stampede of unhappy females. We must compress the feet of the next generation, after the wise custom of China, so that they can't get away."