While she was thus, she heard a little commotion.  She came to the window and saw Falcon, exquisitely dressed, drive off in his dogcart, attended by the acclamations of eight boys.  She saw at a glance he was gone courting; her knees gave way under her, and, such is the power of the mind, this stalwart girl lay weak as water on the sofa, and had not the power to go home, though just then she had but one wish, one hope—­to see her idol’s face no more, nor hear his wheedling tongue, that had ruined her peace.

The exquisite Mr. Falcon was received by Rosa Lusignan with a certain tremor that flattered his hopes.  He told her, in charming language, how he had admired her at first sight, then esteemed her, then loved her.

She blushed and panted, and showed more than once a desire to interrupt him, but was too polite.  She heard him out with rising dismay, and he offered her his hand and heart.

But by this time she had made up her mind what to say.  “O Mr. Falcon!” she cried, “how can you speak to me in this way?  Why, I am engaged.  Didn’t you know?”

“No; I am sure you are not, or you would never have given me the encouragement you have.”

“Oh, all engaged young ladies flirt—­a little; and everybody here knows I am engaged to Dr. Staines.”

“Why, I never saw him here.”

Rosa’s tact was a quality that came and went; so she blushed, and faltered out, “We had a little tiff, as lovers will.”

“And you did me the honor to select me as cat’s-paw to bring him on again.  Was not that rather heartless?”

Rosa’s fitful tact returned to her.

“Oh, sir, do not think so ill of me.  I am not heartless, I am only unwise; and you are so superior to the people about you; I could not help appreciating you, and I thought you knew I was engaged, and so I was less on my guard.  I hope I shall not lose your esteem, though I have no right to anything more.  Ah!  I see by your face I have behaved very ill:  pray forgive me.”

And with this she turned on the waters of the Nile, better known to you, perhaps, as “crocodile tears.”

Falcon was a gentleman on the surface, and knew he should only make matters worse by quarrelling with her.  So he ground his teeth, and said, “May your own heart never feel the pangs you have inflicted.  I shall love you and remember you till my dying day.”

He bowed ceremoniously and left her.

“Ay,” said he to himself, “I will remember you, you heartless jilt, and the man you have jilted me for.  Staines is his d—­d name, is it?”

He drove back crestfallen, bitter, and, for once in his life, heart-sick, and drew up at his lodgings.  Here he found attendants waiting to receive him.

A sheriff’s officer took his dogcart and horse under a judgment; the disturbance this caused collected a tiny crowd, gaping and grinning, and brought Phoebe’s white face and eyes swollen with weeping to the window.