Some seven years previous to her marriage, and while yet a child, Mrs. Wentworth, with her father, the only surviving relative she had, spent the summer at Saratoga Springs in the State of New York, and there met Mr. Awtry, who was then a handsome and dashing young man.  Struck by her beauty, and various accomplishments, he lost no time in making her acquaintance, and before her departure from the Springs, offered her his hand.  To his utter astonishment, the proposal was rejected, with the statement that she was already engaged to a gentleman of New Orleans.  This refusal would have satisfied any other person, but Horace Awtry was not a man to yield so easily; he, therefore, followed her to New Orleans on her return, and endeavored, by every means in his power, to supplant Alfred Wentworth in the affections of Eva Seymour—­Mrs. Wentworth’s maiden name—­and in the confidence of her father.  Failing in this, and having the mortification of seeing them married, he set to work and succeeded in ruining Mr. Seymour in business, which accounts for the moderate circumstances in which we find Mrs. Wentworth and her husband at the commencement of this book.  Worn out by his failure in business and loss of fortune, Mr. Seymour died shortly after his daughter’s marriage, without knowing who caused his misfortunes, and Horace Awtry returned to the North.  After being absent for several years, he came back to New Orleans some months before the departure of Mrs. Wentworth’s husband, but never called upon her until after he had left, when she was surprised at the visit narrated in the foregoing chapter.

This gentleman was seated in the portico of the St. Charles Hotel a few mornings after his visit to Mrs. Wentworth, and by his movements of impatience was evidently awaiting the arrival of some one.  At last a young man ran down the steps leading from the apartments, and he rose hurriedly to meet him.

“You are the very man I have been waiting to see,” said Horace Awtry; “you must excuse my apparent neglect in not calling on you before.”

“Certainly, my dear fellow,” replied the gentleman.  “I am certain your reasons are good for not attending to your arrangement punctually—­by the way,” he continued, “who the deuce was that lady I saw you escorting to church last Sunday?”

“An acquaintance of mine that I had not seen for years, until a few days ago chance threw me in her path and I paid her a visit.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed his companion.  “I understand; but who is she, and her name?  She is very pretty,” he continued, gravely.

“Hush, Charlie!” replied Horace; “come to my room in the St. Louis Hotel, and I will tell you all about it.”

“Wait a moment, my friend, and let me get some breakfast,” he replied.

“Pooh!” said Horace, “we can have breakfast at Galpin’s after I have conversed with you at my room; or,” he continued, “I will order a breakfast and champagne to be brought up to my room.”