The winds were baffling, and Edmonson and Lord Bulchester had a longer voyage than they had counted upon.  They found it tedious, and it was with satisfaction that they at last set foot on land and drove through the streets of Boston to the Royal Exchange.  Edmonson’s projects inspired him rather than made him anxious.  It was, of course, possible that Elizabeth Royal might refuse him, but in his heart he had the attitude of a Londoner toward provincials and was not burdened with doubts as to the result of his wooing, and so the one necessary grain of uncertainty only gave flavor to the whole affair.

A few hours after his arrival he left the house to try his fortune.

“I may not be home until late,” he said to Bulchester.  “I shall tackle pater-familias first, then the young lady herself.  It is possible they will invite me to tea, you know.  Don’t wait for me if you find anything to do or anywhere to go in this puritanical hole.”  And the young man, in all the tasteful splendor of attire that the times allowed, closed the door behind him and left Lord Bulchester looking at the oaken panels which had suddenly taken the place in which his friend had been standing, and seeing, not these, but Edmonson’s fine figure and his bold smile.

“No woman can resist his wooing,” the nobleman said to himself with a sigh at the thought of his own indifferent appearance.  Therefore it was with amazement that two hours later coming home from a stroll he learned that the other had returned, and going to his room found him prone on the sofa.

“Why!  What is the—­,” he began, then checked himself, considering that since only failure could be the matter, this was hardly a generous question.

“Headache,” growled Edmonson.  “No,” he cried with an oath, “that is a lie,” and springing up, turned blood-shot eyes upon his companion.  “I am mad, Bulchester,” he cried, “raving mad.  It is all over with me in that quarter.”

“She has refused you?  Or the father has?”

“Hang it! they couldn’t do anything else, either of them.  I did not see Mistress Royal, Mistress Archdale, rather.  Yes, married!” as Bulchester echoed the name.  “There’s been an interesting drama with one knave and two fools.  If I could only catch the knave!  Perhaps it is as well to let the fools go, since I can’t help it.”  He was silent a moment.  Then after a moment he added.  “Well! what is the use of cursing one’s luck?” “There are several others I know of doing the same thing at this moment, and I like to be original.  I declare, if he didn’t stand in my way, I should be tempted to pity young Archdale.  He wishes himself in my shoes as much, and I suspect a good deal more, than I do myself in his.  I don’t wonder that the young lady keeps herself retired for a time.  I did not see her, as I told you.  Mr. Royal made as light of the matter as possible, merely saying that something which might prove to have been a real marriage ceremony, though he thought not, had taken