“That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. "How?" cried her brother, starting. But at the beginning of the affray, when he thought every one was too much occupied with his own concerns to remark his absence, he slipped out of the room, not for the purpose of avoiding the engagement (for cowardice was not one of his failings), but because he had another object in view. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction.
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