“That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. It was a duel, you understand, and that is not permitted. Wood's charms equalled your description. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. All the precious paintings and statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set above the altar. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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