port, paused for a moment, threw away his scarce lighted cigarette, lifted his hat, as if in salutation, though the street was empty, and walked on, his head bowed, his nervous hands idly bending his light stick.
General Ruysdale was certainly jealous of Philip. He had confided to Mrs. Harden, to whose charms he had long since fallen a victim, his doubts of the wisdom of Margaret's seeing so much of the handsome doctor. The lady—Philip's stanch friend and ally—queried why the same objection could not be urged against Feuardent. "Robert Feuardent is a child beside Margaret," answered the General. "His mind is perfectly undeveloped; he doesn't know the difference between a statue and a bas-relief. I doubt if he ever heard of Michael Angelo. He poses for her, and she amuses herself with him, as she does with that animated plaything, my rival, General Jackson. The one is quite as harmless as the other."
"I do not agree with you, sir," replied Mrs. Harden.
"But, my dear madam, what possible interest could my daughter and that young Creole have in common? She knows nothing about horses beyond their anatomy, and he, pardon me, seems to know about very little else."
"General, you misjudge young Feuardent. If
