At concerts and other public assemblages, her brilliant figure and irreproachable costume were always to be seen,—­the admiration of men, the envy of women.  Nor was she without gallants.  Gentlemen flocked about her, and seemed only too happy in her smiles; but it never happened that their wives or sisters joined in their attentions.  On fine days, as she came out for a walk, she was sure to be accompanied by some person whose dress and manners marked him as belonging to the wealthy classes; and at such times it generally happened,—­according to the scandal-loving shopkeepers,—­that the last new book, the little “love” of a ring, or the engraved scent-bottle was purchased.

An odd affair is Society.  At its outposts are flaming swords for women, though invisible to other eyes; men can venture without the lines, if they only return at roll-call.  Let a woman receive or visit one of the demi-monde, (the technical use of the word is happily inapplicable here,) and she might as well earn her living by her own labor, or do any other disreputable thing; but her brother may pay court to the most doubtful, and mothers will only shake their heads and say, “He must sow his wild oats; he’ll get over all that by-and-by.”

So the beauty was still queen in her circle, and found admirers in plenty.  Perhaps she even enjoyed the freedom; for, to a woman of spirit, the constraints of taboo must be irksome at times.  Not the Brahmin, who fears to tread upon sole-leather from the sacred cow, and dares not even think of the flavor of her forbidden beef, who keeps himself haughtily aloof from the soldier and the trader, and walks sunward from the pariah, lest the polluting shadow fall on his holy person, has a more difficult and engrossing occupation than the woman of fashion, in a country where the distinctions of rank are so purely factitious as in ours.  Miss Sandford’s time was now her own; she was accountable to no supervisor.  Her brother was a cipher.  He did not venture to intrude upon her, except at seasons when she was at leisure, and in a humor to be bored by him.  Perhaps she looked back regretfully, but, as far as could be told by her manner, she carried herself proudly, with the air of one who says,—­

  “Better reign in hell than serve in heaven.”

The observant reader has doubtless wondered before this, that Mr. Sandford did not, in his emergency, apply to his old clerk, Fletcher, for the money in exchange for the peculiar obligation of which mention has been made.  It is presuming too much upon Mr. Sandford’s stupidity to suppose that the idea had not frequently occurred to him.  But he was satisfied that Fletcher was one of the few who were making money in this time of general distress, and that with every day’s acquisition the paper became more valuable; therefore, as it was his last trump, he preferred to play it when it would sweep the board; and he was willing to live in any way until