“And so do I, most sincerely,” replied Mr. Armand.  Then, after thinking for a moment, he added—­

“I will return to the city in the next boat.  All of their friends being away, they must feel exceedingly lonesome.”

“It will certainly be a kind act, Mr. Armand, and one, the motive for which they cannot but highly appreciate,” said Mary, with an inward glow of admiration.

It was about eleven o’clock on the next day that Mr. Armand pulled the bell at the door of Mr. Ludlow’s beautiful dwelling, and then waited with a feeling of impatience for the servant to answer the summons.  But he waited in vain.  No servant came.  He rang again, and again waited long enough for a servant to come half a dozen times.  Then he looked up at the house and saw that all the shutters were closed; and down upon the marble steps, and perceived that they were covered with dust and dirt; and on the bell-handle, and noted its loss of brightness.

“Miss Jones must have been mistaken,” he said to himself, as he gave the bell a third pull, and then waited, but in vain, for the hall-door to be swung open.

“Who can it be?” asked Emily, a good deal disturbed, as the bell rang violently for the third time, and in company with Adeline, went softly into the parlor to take a peep through one of the shutters.

“Mr. Armand, as I live!” she ejaculated, in a low, husky whisper, turning pale.  “I would not have him know that we are in town for the world!”

And then she stole away quietly, with her heart leaping and fluttering in her bosom, lest he should instinctively perceive her presence.

Finding that admission was not to be obtained, Mr. Armand concluded that the family had gone to some other watering place, and turned away irresolute as to his future course.  As he was passing down Broadway, he met Uncle Joseph.

“So the Ludlows are all out of town,” he said.

“So they are not!” replied Uncle Joseph, rather crustily, for he had just been thinking over their strange conduct, and it irritated him.

“Why, I have been ringing there for a quarter of an hour, and no one came to the door; and the house is all shut up.”

“Yes; and if you had ringing for a quarter of a century, it would all have been the same.”

“I can’t understand you,” said Mr. Armand.

“Why, the truth is, Mr. Ludlow cannot go to the Springs with them this season, and they are so afraid that it will become known that they are burying themselves in the back part of the house, and denying all visiters.”

“Why so?  I cannot comprehend it.”

“All fashionable people, you know, are expected to go to the sea-shore or the Springs; and my sister and her two eldest daughters are so silly, as to fear that they will lose caste, if it is known that they could not go this season.  Do you understand now?”

“Perfectly.”

“Well, that’s the plain A B C of the case.  But it provokes me out of all patience with them.”