She turned away; and, taking the arm of the gentleman with her, complained of the heat as oppressive, and they sauntered off together into the bowery region beyond.

“Oh, now! where can I have left my fan?” she said, suddenly stopping.

“Let me go back and get it for you,” said he of the whiskers who attended her.  It was one of the dancing young men of New York, and it is no particular matter what his name was.

“Thank you,” said Rose:  “I believe I left it on the sofa in the yellow drawing-room.”  He was gone in a moment.

Rose wandered on a little way, through the labyrinth of flowers and shadowy trees and fountains, and sat down on an artificial rock where she fell into a deep reverie.  Rising to go back, she missed her way, and became quite lost, and went on uneasily, conscious that she had committed a rudeness in not waiting for her attendant.

At this moment she looked through a distant alcove of shrubbery, and saw Harry and Lillie standing together,—­she with both hands laid upon his arm, looking up to him and speaking rapidly with an imploring accent.  She saw him, with an angry frown, push Lillie from him so rudely that she almost fell backward, and sat down with her handkerchief to her eyes; he came forward hurriedly, and met the eyes of Rose fixed upon him.

[Illustration:  “She saw him, with an angry frown, push Lillie from him.”]

“Mr. Endicott,” she said, “I have to ask a favor of you.  Will you be so good as to excuse me from the ‘German’ to-night, and order my carriage?”

“Why, Miss Ferguson, what is the matter?” he said:  “what has come over you?  I hope I have not had the misfortune to do any thing to displease you?”

Without replying to this, Rose answered, “I feel very unwell.  My head is aching violently, and I cannot go through the rest of the evening.  I must go home at once.”  She spoke it in a decided tone that admitted of no question.

Without answer, Harry Endicott gave her his arm, accompanied her through the final leave-takings, went with her to the carriage, put her in, and sprang in after her.

Rose sank back on her seat, and remained perfectly silent; and Harry, after a few remarks of his had failed to elicit a reply, rode by her side equally silent through the streets homeward.

He had Mr. Van Astrachan’s latch-key; and, when the carriage stopped, he helped Rose to alight, and went up the steps of the house.

“Miss Ferguson,” he said abruptly, “I have something I want to say to you.”

“Not now, not to-night,” said Rose, hurriedly.  “I am too tired; and it is too late.”

“To-morrow then,” he said:  “I shall call when you will have had time to be rested.  Good-night!”

CHAPTER XXII.

THE SPIDER-WEB BROKEN.

Harry did not go back, to lead the “German,” as he had been engaged to do.  In fact, in his last apologies to Mrs. Follingsbee, he had excused himself on account of his partner’s sudden indisposition,—­thing which made no small buzz and commotion; though the missing gap, like all gaps great and little in human society, soon found somebody to step into it:  and the dance went on just as gayly as if they had been there.