“Thank you, sir —­ I must not; for business holds me by the hand at this moment.”

“A glass of wine?”

“Thank you sir, again.”

“You will not?”

“No, sir.  I have no acquaintance in that quarter, and do not wish to be introduced.”

“But my dear Mr. Landholm! —­ are you serious?”

“Always, sir.”

“Most extraordinary! —­ But can’t you be persuaded?  I think you are wrong.”

“I must abide the consequences, I am afraid.”

“Well, stay! —­ Will you come to my house to-night and let me give you some other introductions?”

“I cannot refuse that, sir.”

“Then come up to tea.  How’s your father? —­”

So Winthrop was in for it, and went about his afternoon business with the feeling that none would be done in the evening.  Which did not make him more diligent, because it could not.

Mr. Haye’s house was near the lower end of the Parade, and one of the best in the city.  It was a very handsome room in which Winthrop found the family; as luxuriously fitted up as the fashion of those times permitted; and the little group gathered there did certainly look as if all the business of the world was done without them, and a good part of it for them; so undoubtedly easy and comfortable was the flow of their laces and the sweep of their silk gowns; so questionless of toil or endurance was the position of each little figure upon soft cushions, and the play of pretty fingers with delicate do-nothing bobbins and thread.  Rose was literally playing with hers, for the true business of the hour seemed to be a gentleman who sat at her feet on an ottoman, and who was introduced to Winthrop as Mr. Satterthwaite.  Elizabeth according to her fashion sat a little apart and seemed to be earnestly intent upon some sort of fine net manufacture.  They three were all.

Winthrop’s reception was after the former manner; from Rose extremely and sweetly free and cordial; from Elizabeth grave and matter-of-fact.  She went back to her net-work; and Rose presently found Mr. Satterthwaite very interesting again, and went back to him, so far as looks and talk were concerned.  Winthrop could but conclude that he was not interesting, for neither of the ladies certainly found him so.  He had an excellent chance to make up his mind about the whole party; for none of them gave him any thing else to do with it.

Rose was a piece of loveliness, to the eye, such as one would not see in many a summer day; with all the sweet flush of youth and health she was not ill-named.  Fresh as a rose, fresh-coloured, bright, blooming; sweet too, one would say, for a very pretty smile seemed ever at home on the lips; —­ to see her but once, she would be noted and remembered as a most rare picture of humanity.  But Winthrop had seen her more than once.  His eye passed on.