Gilbert was presented to a pleasant-looking lady, whom Laura introduced as her mother.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Greyson,” she said, cordially; “I supposed Laura would bring you in here at once, but it seemed to be her intention to monopolize you.”

“We had important business to talk over, mamma.”

“Very important, no doubt. How do you like the city, Mr. Greyson?”

“I think I shall like it after I am better acquainted,” Gilbert answered.

“You haven’t introduced me, Laura,” said her brother Fred, in an aggrieved tone.

“Gilbert,” said Laura, “let me introduce to your favorable notice my brother Fred, who, in his own opinion, is a model of all the virtues.”

“I am glad to meet him. I never saw a model boy before,” said Gilbert, pleasantly.

“I never pretended to be a model boy,” said Fred. “Laura’s only chaffing.”

“Where did you pick up that word, Fred?” said his mother.

“Isn’t it a good word, mamma? It’s just what she does.”

“Fred has just commenced Latin,” said Laura, “but I am afraid, from his own story, that it is just wearing out his constitution.”

“I don’t see any good in it,” said Fred. “Do you know Latin, Mr. Greyson?”

“I have studied it some.”

“How far have you been?”

“I have read CÆsar and Virgil.”

“Oh, then you know a lot about it. I’m only in the second declension.”

“You don’t like it, then?”

“Not much. I don’t see how anybody could ever talk such stuff.”

“You will be more interested in it as you get on further. That was the way with me. I wasn’t in love with it at first.”

“I hope so,” said Fred.

Here Mr. Vivian entered, and greeted Gilbert cordially.

“I told Laura to keep you,” he said. “What have you been doing since we met?”

“I have got a place, or rather Mr. Briggs got one for me.”

“What sort of a place?”

“I am with Mr. Sands, a stock-broker. His office is on Wall Street.”

“I know of him, though I don’t personally know him. How do you like your new situation?”

“I have not been there long enough to decide. I like Mr. Sands.”

“Are you still an inmate of Mr. Briggs’ house?”

“No, sir; I am boarding on Clinton Place, near Broadway.”

“You find that more convenient to your office?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you have fairly got started in your business career. I hope you may be successful.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I believe you told me that your money, of which Mr. Briggs had charge, has been entirely expended on your education?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you compelled, then, to live on your weekly wages?”

“I don’t think I could do that very well, as they only amount to five dollars a week. Mr. Briggs offered to pay my board, and let me use this for other expenses. I don’t like to have him do it, but he insists upon it.”

“That seems kind,” said Mr. Vivian. “Was it your idea, or his, to go to a boarding-house?”

“I suspect,” said Gilbert, hesitating, for he was not clear whether he ought to tell this, “that it was Mrs. Briggs’ idea. From the first, she has not seemed to like me.”

“I don’t like her looks,” said Laura; “I have seen her several times. You know, papa, she was at the same hotel with us at Saratoga. She looks cross.”

“You must not speak too hastily against people, Laura,” said Mrs. Vivian.

“I suspect Laura only shares the general feeling,” said Mr. Vivian. “Mrs. Briggs is, by no means, a favorite in society.”

“Nor Randolph, either,” added Laura.

“I thought he was a beau of yours, Laura,” said her father, slyly.

“He never was, papa. I used to meet him at dancing-school, and I have danced with him there; but that is the end of our acquaintance. If he bows to me I bow back, but I don’t care to know any more of him.”

“Can’t we have a little music, Laura?” asked her father.

“I only play a little. Do you play, Gilbert?”

“No, Miss Laura.”

“Or sing?”

“A little.”

“Then I’ll make a bargain; I will play if you will sing.”

“I hardly feel prepared to sing in company.”

“This isn’t company. You needn’t mind any of us. Fred, open the folding-doors, will you?”

The piano was in the parlor adjoining. The doors were thrown open, and Laura sat down to the piano. Two or three songs were selected, and Gilbert sang to Laura’s accompaniment. He had a good voice, and a correct ear, and the double performance passed off smoothly.

“Doesn’t your brother sing?” asked Gilbert.

“Fred? He don’t know one tune from another; besides, he don’t like the piano. The hand-organ is his favorite instrument.”

“I mean to buy one when I am rich enough,” said Fred.

“Shall you go around with it?” asked Laura; “or only keep it in the parlor for the entertainment of visitors?”

“You may laugh as much as you like,” said Fred; “but a hand-organ, that is, a good one, sounds splendid.”

“Did you ever see such a barbarian? Gilbert, what else do you sing?”

The evening slipped away almost before they were aware. To Gilbert, it was positively delightful. Not that he was in love with Laura, but, never having had a sister, it was an agreeable novelty to him to meet a young girl so frank and attractive as Laura.

“I hope you will come again soon, Mr. Greyson,” said Mrs. Vivian, when our hero rose to take his leave.

“Yes, do come,” said Laura.

“I shall consider it a privilege to call,” said Gilbert, with sincerity.

“By the way,” said Mr. Vivian, “I have taken several tickets for a concert in Steinway Hall next Wednesday evening. I have a spare one for you, Mr. Greyson, if you have no engagement.”

“I shall be very glad to accept one, sir.”

“Then come up to dinner that evening; we dine at six. We will all go together.”

“Am I to go?” asked Fred.

“There will be a ticket for you, if you would like to go, though I am afraid you won’t enjoy the classical music you will hear.”

“No matter,” said Fred, “I’ll go, though I’d rather go to a circus.”

“If there were only a hand-organ, Fred would enjoy it,” suggested Laura.

“Well, Gilbert, what sort of a time did you have?” asked Mr. Ingalls, when his room-mate returned.

“Delightful! I am going to dine there next Wednesday.”

“It seems to me you are making a favorable impression in that quarter.”

“I hope so.”

A knock was heard at the door.

“Come in,” said Mr. Ingalls.

Mr. Alphonso Jones opened the door and entered.

“Excuse my late intrusion, gents,” he said. “And how did you find the Vivians, Mr. Greyson?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“They are very high-toned people.”

“I presume so, but I am not much of a judge,” said Gilbert

“Probably,” said Mr. Ingalls, “you do not know as many of that class as Mr. Jones. Did you find the Montmorencys well, Mr. Jones?”

“Quite so, thank you. Mrs. Montmorency has had a bad cold; but she has quite recovered now. They talk of going to Europe next summer.”

“Do they, indeed? How you will miss them!”

“To be sure. However, I have many other friends in the first circles whom I can visit. I suppose, Mr. Greyson, the Vivians have a fine house?”

“It seems very comfortable.”

“The Montmorencys live in a perfect palace. I wish you could see it.”

“I wish I could, Mr. Jones,” said Mr. Ingalls; “but you wouldn’t take me, you know.”

“I couldn’t, Mr. Ingalls, as I explained to you. They are so very exclusive.”

“I wonder visiting such fine houses doesn’t make you dissatisfied with your own home.”

“Oh, my tastes are very plain,” said Alphonso.

“Some of your own poetry, Mr. Jones?” asked Mr. Ingalls, demurely.

“No, it’s Shakespeare or Byron,” answered Jones; “I forget which. Good-evening, gents.”

“Would you like to know where Mr. Jones spent the evening, Gilbert?” asked his room-mate.

“On Fifth Avenue?”

“No. Mr. Tarbox followed him, and saw him enter a billiard-saloon on the Bowery. Jones is a first-class humbug.”