THE RUMSEYS:

OR THE PEOPLE WHO KNEW EVERY BODY AND WHOM NOBODY KNEW.

———

BY AGNES L. GORDON.

———

“My dear Mrs. Armitage, I am delighted to see you; I have just this moment heard of your return, and hastened to claim the privilege of an old friend, in being the first to welcome you home again.”

So saying, little Mrs. Grey carefully navigated her way amid the piles of trunks and band-boxes that strewed the hall, and warmly saluted her friend, who was superintending the arrangement of the baggage.

After the first greetings were over, Mrs. Armitage led her visiter into the drawing-room, that looked cheerless enough, draped in brown Holland and shrouded in gloom. When the ladies were seated upon one of the veiled divans, Mrs. Armitage said —

“I need not apologize to you, my dear Mrs. Grey, for the disorder in which you find me. We have but just arrived, and the covers are not yet removed from the furniture—nothing is in readiness for our reception, because our return is entirely unexpected. Mr. Armitage was obliged to be in the city, or we should have staid at least a fortnight longer. I am quite at a loss to know how you should so soon have heard of our arrival.”

“Why, I called upon Mrs. Leonard, this morning,” replied her guest, “and there met your friend Mrs. Rumsey, who came down in the cars with your party; she said she had just parted with you, and on that hint I rushed off, regardless of etiquette, that I might give you the warm welcoming I felt.”

Mrs. Armitage pressed her friend’s hand in acknowledgment, and then with a puzzled look exclaimed:

“Mrs. Rumsey! Who in the name of wonder is she? I know no person of that name, neither have I any recollection of it.”

“Not know her!” ejaculated Mrs. Grey, now surprised in turn. “Not know her!—impossible! Why she was entertaining Mrs. Leonard with a long account of your sayings and doings, and went off in ecstasies over Helen’s beauty and musical talent.”

“Very strange!” repeated the other lady, musingly. “Mrs. Rumsey—Rumsey—I cannot remember any such person. However, there were so many people at the hotel that I did not see half of them, and of course only made acquaintance with those who pleased me. Certainly this Mrs. Rumsey was not among the number.”

“Well, you certainly must have had some conversation with her,” said Mrs. Grey, “else she would not have repeated remarks that you made to her, and beside she told us how very intimate Helen was with her daughters, and what delightful strolls you all took together. Perhaps you have not heard her name aright?”

“Perhaps not,” answered Mrs. Armitage; “what kind of looking person is she?”

“Oh!” replied her friend, smiling, “she has not much in appearance to delight one, certainly, though her tout ensemble is rather striking, and I should think not easily forgotten. She is rather short, and rather thin, with a quantity of light frizzed curls, surmounted with pink flowers and marabout feathers—she seems to make up in drapery what she lacks in solidity, and wears deep flounces, and a quantity of lace trimming, beside a very elegant watch and chatelaine. Altogether, she was rather over-dressed, but must be of some standing, for I heard her mention many of our first families in the most familiar manner.”

“And perhaps with no more claim to their acquaintance than she has to mine,” replied Mrs. Armitage in a provoked tone, for she prided herself a little upon her rank in the world of fashion. “I am sure I have no acquaintance with the person whom you describe, and as for her daughters—but here comes Helen, let her answer for herself.”

As she spoke Helen Armitage entered the room. She was a graceful, beautiful girl of eighteen, with a decided style, though quiet in manner, and justified the proud glance which her mother bestowed upon her, as she advanced to welcome Mrs. Grey, who was deservedly loved by all the family.

“My dear Helen how well you are looking,” exclaimed their visiter. “Really you fully deserve all the encomiums that I have heard lavished upon you this morning by the mother of your friends, the Miss Rumseys.”

“Helen, who are these Rumseys who seem to know us so well? I have no recollection of them,” interrupted her mother.

“Really, mamma, I cannot tell,” replied Helen with a smile. “I think there must be a mistake—where did they say they had met us, Mrs. Grey?”

Mrs. Grey then repeated all she had previously said, and added—“You must surely remember them, Helen, since I understand that the young Mr. Rumsey, Samuel Rumsey, junior, was your devoted cavalier.”

Helen shook her head—“I do not think I can claim the gentleman as upon my list of admirers,” she said laughing; “and as for the young ladies, I have no recollection of them.”

“Really, Helen,” said her mother, a little impatiently, “I wish you had been more discreet in your choice of associates, it is not pleasant to have one’s name connected with every ill-bred person whom you may meet at a watering-place. You must have had some intimacy with them, or they would not presume to mention you so familiarly.”

“I assure you, mamma, that I made no acquaintance except with those whom you approved. Of the Rumseys I have not the slightest knowledge. I remember now, that the day before we left, our general picknick party was joined by a group who had arrived in the morning. The eldest lady answered to Mrs. Grey’s description of our unknown friend; she was accompanied by two younger ladies and a gentleman, whose style of appearance, as well as her own, was rather outré, and they were evidently strangers. One of the young ladies addressed a remark to me upon the beauty of the scenery, to which of course I replied, and the gentleman upon whose arm she leaned showed a desire to continue the conversation, but as I had not been introduced, and he was moreover, an ignorant, ill-bred person, I merely bowed and passed on. What their names were I cannot tell, but they might have been the Rumseys.”

“Very likely,” said Mrs. Armitage, with a half smile, “but they say they came down with us, and seem to know me.”

Helen laughed outright—“I remember that they were in the same car with us. Don’t you recollect, mamma, that a lady sitting behind you, very considerately pulled your shawl up on your shoulders, saying she feared you would take cold? That was the same person whom I supposed to be Mrs. Rumsey, and her polite son quite stared me out of countenance during the journey, while his sisters seemed comparing notes together.”

“Taking an inventory of your dress and charms, Helen, that they might be able to describe you correctly,” laughed Mrs. Grey, who began to enter into the spirit of the affair, and was a good deal amused at her friend’s evident annoyance.

“But really,” she continued, “you should not have cut your brother’s college chum so decidedly. I understood that Harry and the young Rumsey were a second Damon and Pythias.”

“Absurd,” exclaimed Mrs. Armitage, now more nettled than ever. “Absurd, my dear Mrs. Grey, I wonder you could have patience to listen to such an evident tissue of falsehoods. You could not suppose I would tolerate such a person as you describe.”

“I had no right to suppose them falsehoods,” replied the other quietly, for she was the least bit of a quiz in the world. “I found the lady comfortably seated in Mrs. Leonard’s drawing-room, and conversing familiarly of you as a friend for whom she had the highest esteem. I saw she was rather ill-bred to be sure, but she may be a very good sort of woman for all that you know, and so on the strength of your friendship I invited her to call upon me.”

“Poor Mrs. Grey,” ejaculated Helen, laughing, “she will come of course, and then it will be your turn to be victimized. How could she ever have become known to the Leonards?”

“I shall take care never to meet her,” said Mrs. Armitage, decidedly. “To think of that officious person who insisted upon carrying my traveling bag upon her lap, and constantly annoyed me with offers of services, claiming my acquaintance, indeed. One thing is very certain, she shall never procure an introduction.”

“Don’t be too sure,” said her merry friend, as she rose to take leave; “strange things do happen sometimes. However, I am sorry that I have caused you any annoyance, though I must say I think I have the worst of it.”

So speaking Mrs. Grey departed, and Mrs. Armitage was speedily so deeply engaged in household arrangements, that she forgot for a season the unlooked-for acquaintance of Mrs. Rumsey.

A few days after her return home, Mrs. Armitage called upon Mrs. Leonard, and here again was doomed to hear of Mrs. Rumsey, and the warm friendship that existed between the young scion of the Rumseys and her son Harry, with the decided admiration of the former for her daughter Helen. Poor Mrs. Armitage! she began to think this Mrs. Rumsey was an evil-genius sent to persecute her. She disclaimed all knowledge of her tormentor, and asked Mrs. Leonard how she became known to her.

Her friend replied that she had met Mrs. Rumsey at the house of a friend very frequently, and from her apparent familiar acquaintance with many good families, supposed her to be a desirable visiter. She gave her a casual invitation to call, which was immediately accepted, and she had since brought her daughters. They were tall, showy girls, Mrs. Leonard said, and much more presentable than their mother.

Mrs. Armitage denying all knowledge of the family seemed to surprise her friend, as Mrs. Rumsey, to her knowledge, had used her name as a card of introduction to several other persons.

Perplexed and thoroughly annoyed, Mrs. Armitage returned home. This determined claim of friendship from a person who she was very sure must be ill-bred and ridiculous, troubled her not a little.

The Armitage family occupied a high position in society. Mr. Armitage was a man of intelligence and wealth, his mercantile influence was great, and though mingling but little in the gay crowds which his wife and daughter frequented, he was universally sought after and respected. Mrs. Armitage was a refined and elegant woman, nurtured in luxury—she shrunk from any contact with rude, or ill-bred persons, and thoroughly despised the mean-spirited parasites who sought to bask in the influence which her husband’s wealth and her own fashion shed abroad. She was fastidious in her choice of associates, perhaps a little too much so, and consequently her acquaintance was eagerly sought.

Her daughter Helen was, as has been said, a beautiful girl of eighteen, with as much refinement, and less exclusiveness than her mother; a belle in society, and the idol of her father at home. While Harry Armitage, a frank, manly, high-spirited youth, just of age, full of fun, yet the soul of honor, was his mother’s delight and the beau ideal of the ladies.

Truly not to know the Armitages was to argue oneself unknown.

Harry Armitage, who was away on a shooting excursion, did not return home until a few days after his mother, and consequently had heard nothing of the Rumseys. But it so chanced, that on the very morning upon which his mother called upon Mrs. Leonard, he was strolling up one of the principal promenades with a friend, when they met a person whose appearance attracted Harry’s attention.

“Who, in the name of all the tailors, is this walking fashion-plate?” he exclaimed, glancing at the same moment toward a small, slight young man, with very light hair, and a luxuriant buff-colored moustache, who, with an air of ill-attempted ease, came sauntering toward them. He was attired according to the latest mode, his bottle-green “cut-away” displaying a gaudy vest and plaid neckerchief to great advantage, while from beneath his drab pantaloons appeared feet snugly encased in patent-leather pumps and crimson hose.

Harry’s friend looked up, as he replied smiling—“Why, Armitage, don’t you remember your old chum and particular friend, young Rumsey?”

“I can’t say that I do,” replied the other with a smile, as the individual in question passed, with a stare at Armitage and a low bow to his friend. “At least,” he added, “you see he has cut me quite coolly. I don’t think he recognized me any better than I did himself, for I am pretty sure we never met before.”

“Strange, that he should not have known you,” said his companion. “Why, he used your name as a means of introducing himself to me.”

“My name!” ejaculated Harry in surprise. “Impossible—how did it happen?”

“Why, I met him at the tailor’s one day, and as I was waiting to be served, heard him say—‘I think I will have a coat from the same piece as my friend Armitage ordered, I like his taste.’ Of course I turned upon hearing your name, and noticing my inquiring look, he asked—‘Do you know Harry Armitage, sir?’ I bowed assent. ‘Fine fellow,’ said he, ‘an old college chum, and particular friend of mine—his sister Helen is a superb girl. Happy to make your acquaintance, sir.’ He tendered me his card, which bore the name of Samuel Rumsey, Esq., and received mine in exchange. Since then I have met him several times at the theatre and elsewhere, and have been not a little amused at his assumption of fashionable manners, which sit upon him as awkwardly as a dress-coat upon a Turk; but as your friend I have always treated him civilly. I am surprised at your apparent ignorance of each other now.”

“I have been trying to recollect when I ever knew a person by that name,” said Harry, after a pause, “and I remember such a boy at one of the first schools to which I ever went. He was a lazy fellow, who spent all his pocket-money in buying gilded watch-chains and imitation breast-pins, and his leisure time in writing letters directed to himself, purporting to come from fashionable friends in town. I recollect he burnt nearly half his hair off at one time with the curling tongs, and was constantly begging old boot-tops from the elder boys to make straps, which he pinned fast to his pantaloons. We called him ‘gentleman Rumsey,’ a title with which he appeared highly delighted. This person is doubtless the same, though I have never met him since I left school, and why he should claim me as an acquaintance, I know not. Do you know the family?”

“I have seen his sisters,” replied the other, “they are dashing girls, but seemingly infected with the same desire to shine.”

“It is very evident that he did not know me, at least,” said Harry; “if you meet him don’t enlighten him as to my identity, we may have some sport yet.”

Soon after the young men separated, and Harry returned home.

Mrs. Armitage had just concluded a most pathetic account of her morning visit, when Harry entered the room where his mother and sister were seated, and began in his off-hand style an amusing relation of his morning rencontre. When he mentioned the name of Rumsey, his mother lifted her hands with an exclamation of terror, and Helen exclaimed laughing —

“ ‘Monsieur Tonson come again,’ I declare. Well, Harry, I am wicked enough to rejoice in your share of our annoyance, as perhaps through your restless wits we may find a way to rid ourselves of it. This very morning, when I returned to purchase some more ribbon such as I had to trim my fall bonnet, the milliner said she had sold the last to the Miss Rumseys, who were decided in their choice on being told I had selected the same.”

“What is all this about the Rumseys?” asked Harry. And forthwith his mother and sister proceeded to enlighten him on the subject so far as they knew themselves.

Harry shared fully in the annoyance, and determined to devise some method of punishing this pushing and impertinent family, and to find out who and what they were.

“Who were the Rumseys?” This was a question much easier asked than answered, as all allusion to past years was carefully avoided by the people in question, and moreover, they came from an eastern city. They occupied a stylish house in a fashionable quarter, and lived in a showy manner; spending most of their time in promenading and receiving the visits of those who ventured to call upon them.

The mother was an ignorant, ill-bred, over-dressed woman, who, to judge by her conversation, was intimate with almost every family of note, and who by dint of persevering assiduity had succeeded in gaining the entrée to a few fashionable houses. It was whispered about, to be sure, that a waiter had seen her quietly transfer the card of an exclusive from the card-receiver of the lady she was visiting to her own pocket, and said card was afterward observed occupying a conspicuous place upon her centre-table. But this might have been mere servant’s gossip, and it was scarcely credible that all the cards of distinction that filled her gilded card-racks were obtained in the same way. The supposition that she was known in one circle was the magical spring that opened her way into another, and in this way she endeavored to pick the locks, as it were, of the gates of fashionable society.

The daughters were what men of coarse taste would call “dashing girls that make a fine show.” They were rather tall, with bright dark eyes, brilliant complexions, irregular features, wide mouths, and large feet. Their bonnets were always bent to the last extreme of fashion, and the bright colors they wore were always in striking contrast. They affected the fashionable, and certainly most ungraceful lounge, with decided success, and in their daily promenades received numerous bows from gentlemen of every variety. The son has been already introduced, it need only be added that he excelled his family in forward impertinence, and we have the picture complete.

Such were the Rumseys as they appeared candidates for fashionable distinction. One peep behind the curtain will discover who they were.

Samuel Rumsey, senior, had been a green grocer in an eastern city. He was a thrifty, pains-taking, plain man, who amassed a small fortune by small means. His wife, who was a milliner’s apprentice, never could persuade him to live in any other than the plain manner to which he had always been accustomed. She succeeded, however, in prevailing on him to send his children to fashionable boarding-schools, and upon his death, the delighted widow found herself mistress of her own actions, and a comfortable income. She immediately determined to become a woman of fashion, but finding this impossible in a place where she was known, and which is beside noted for the peculiarly high-bred tone of its aristocracy, the ambitious widow removed to the goodly city of Gotham, where she had understood that a golden key would unlock every avenue to distinction, and where wealth is the only acknowledged sign of caste.

True as this opinion was, (and it has passed into a proverb and a reproach to the great metropolis,) Mrs. Rumsey found some difficulty in making her way. She visited watering-places, and freely used the names of those of standing in her original place of abode. But she found herself regarded with distrust by those whose acquaintance she was most anxious to claim, and thought no subterfuge too mean to gain her desired aim. The prestige of Mrs. Armitage’s friendship she was particularly anxious to secure, and thus followed the family to the watering-place where they were staying, in the hope of accomplishing her designs. Their unexpected departure foiled her plans; but determined not to be baffled, she returned to town in the same cars, and hastened to spread abroad the news of her friend, Mrs. Armitage’s, unexpected arrival. It did not seem to occur to her shallow conception that such bare-faced falsehoods as she found it necessary to tell must eventually be exposed. In her anxiety to accomplish her wishes she lost sight of prudence, and thus hastened the mortifying dénouement.

Harry could not discover much of the Rumseys’ history, but he heard enough of their proceedings to justify himself, he thought, in the scheme he had formed for their mortification and exposure. He persuaded his friend to introduce him to young Rumsey by his middle name, which was Lee, and represented himself as a young stranger who was anxious to become acquainted in the city. His friend feared exposure, but Harry was sure of never meeting the Rumseys in his circle, and so persisted in his design.

Young Mr. Lee was accordingly introduced, and received with patronizing condescension. His fine appearance and elegant manners could not fail of making a favorable impression, and the family contented themselves with the remark, that if they were harboring a nobody, he was at least a very presentable one.

Harry said nothing at home regarding his plans, but visited the family frequently. He could scarcely forbear discovering himself when he heard his mother and sisters mentioned in the most familiar terms, and one of the Miss Rumseys would occasionally say —

“I certainly must introduce you to my lovely friend, Helen Armitage; you will be struck with her, I am sure.”

On one occasion Harry could not forbear pointedly replying that he should claim her promise upon the first opportunity. He amused himself by observing their adroitness in parrying questions about their supposed acquaintances, while he became thoroughly disgusted at the deliberate falsehoods which he heard them repeat of persons whom he knew perfectly well, but of whom they had no knowledge further than a chance introduction, or perhaps only knew by sight. When he thought them sufficiently committed by their deceptions, he prepared for the grand finale.

Harry’s friend and confidant in this affair was Mrs. Grey, with whom he was an especial favorite, and who, beside her innate love of mischief and desire to assist her young friend, had her own private reasons for desiring to mortify the Rumseys. They had annoyed her exceedingly by the perseverance with which they followed up her chance invitation to Mrs. Rumsey. That lady promptly accepted the invitation, and although her visit was not returned, yet came again, introducing her daughters, and running over her list of fashionable friends with all the volubility of a parrot. Go where she would, poor Mrs. Grey was doomed to meet her tormentor, and at every turn found herself already heralded by her indefatigable follower. She fully sympathised now in the annoyance of her friend Mrs. Armitage, but concealing her vexation waited until the proper season for crushing this impertinence effectually.

Many moments of merriment did the two conspirators enjoy over the contrivances to which this foolish family subjected themselves. And Harry described the patronising air of Samuel Rumsey, Esq., and his adroit avoidance of those to whom he had promised Mr. Lee an introduction, with infinite glee. It was fortunate for Harry that his companion did so, or the ruse might have been discovered too early. He frequently heard himself mentioned as a particular and intimate associate, and often felt like punishing the impostor who thus made mention of himself and family.

It was decided, at length, that Mrs. Grey should give a soirée, to which the Rumseys were to be invited. She was afraid they would decline the invitation, fearing to meet the people of whose acquaintance they had falsely boasted; but Harry, who knew them better, was sure they would not lose so favorable an opportunity of an introduction into the society they aspired to, and so prevailed upon his friend to send the invitations.

The Rumseys received Mrs. Grey’s card of invitation with delight. No scruples were felt, no fear of exposure entertained. The mother had repeated the names of fashionable people so often, that she began to believe she really knew them, and the daughters trusted to their address in avoiding any mortifying contre-temps, while the son was wholly absorbed in the one idea of the great sensation his stylish appearance would produce. An acceptance was sent, dress-makers, milliners, and tailors put in immediate requisition, and on the appointed evening, fluttering in lace and rustling in silks, the Rumseys were ushered into Mrs. Grey’s elegant and crowded apartments.

After due presentation to the hostess, the Rumseys looked about them and found themselves surrounded by entire strangers. There were a very few, and among them Mrs. Leonard, upon whom Mrs Rumsey had called, and several whom they knew by sight only. As the group were debating which way to turn their steps, Mrs. Grey advanced, and addressing Mrs. Rumsey, said —

“You will meet many of your friends here this evening, Mrs Rumsey. There are Mrs. Starsbury and the Floyds, have you spoken to them yet? Shall I walk over with you?”

Now these ladies Mrs. Rumsey had only heard of through her milliner, and had no claim whatever to their acquaintance; she therefore replied that she was waiting an opportunity of speaking to her friend, Mrs. Leonard, who was engaged in conversation with another lady.

“Oh yes!” said the provoking Mrs. Grey, “now she is looking this way, she evidently recognizes you, as does her friend.” So saying she escorted her visiter toward the group.

Mrs. Leonard replied civilly to Mrs. Rumsey’s eager salutation, but the lady at her side maintained a dignified silence.

“My dear Mrs. Mornton,” cried Mrs. Grey, “don’t you recognize your friend, Mrs. Rumsey? I have heard her talk of you so frequently.”

“Who is Mrs. Rumsey?” replied the lady, who was very exclusive, with a well-bred stare. “I do not know her.”

“Not know her! Oh, I understand—some little disagreement,” said Mrs. Grey, in an undertone.

“Not at all,” answered the other decidedly; “the lady is an utter stranger, believe me.”

Mrs. Grey looked around, but Mrs. Rumsey had disappeared.

Meanwhile the young ladies met several gentlemen whom they knew slightly, and who relieved their awkwardness by a polite attention. They were evidently surprised, however, to see troops of ladies constantly passing, among whom were many whose acquaintance the Miss Rumseys had claimed, but none of whom recognized or noticed them in any way. As for Samuel Rumsey, Esq., he was quite shocked at the indifference with which his attentions and remarks were received, and Mrs. Rumsey now joining her daughters, their position was becoming very unpleasant, when they beheld the quondam Mr. Lee talking with their hostess. Surprise at seeing him was mingled with satisfaction at the appearance of one person, at least, to whose acquaintance they had a real claim. But their astonishment was increased upon beholding the general welcome he received from those to whom they supposed him an utter stranger.

He soon approached them, and after a few remarks observed that he had been introduced to several of their friends, and offered his arm for a promenade. This offer was gladly accepted by the young ladies.

“Here are the Miss Floyds,” said Harry, pausing before two elegant looking girls; “doubtless they will be delighted to see you.”

The Miss Rumseys colored—they had seen the Miss Floyds at their milliners. They bowed in confusion, and Harry mischievously added:

“The Miss Rumseys have not met you before in a long time, I presume.”

“I do not remember the name,” replied the eldest Miss Floyd politely; “where had we the pleasure of meeting you, Miss Rumsey?”

“We met at Mrs. Leonard’s,” answered one of the young ladies, determined to brave it out, and with an affected air of indifference she gave place to a group who now advanced, and remarking to Harry that “they were proud girls,” moved away.

Harry replied with a quizzical look, and the young ladies fearful of another mortification, complained of the heat, and took their seats near where Mrs. Armitage was sitting. Mrs. Rumsey was upon a sofa at their side talking energetically to a strange lady, who, like many others had been, was deceived by her apparent acquaintance with persons of standing, and who was entertained by the personal chit-chat which she retailed.

Meanwhile the rebuff of Mrs. Mornton, and the confusion of the young ladies upon meeting the Miss Floyds was whispered about, and the question of “Who are the Rumseys?” was passed from one to another of those whose names had been freely used by the family.

Harry stationed himself behind the young ladies, and out of his mother’s view, then bending low —

“Who is that beautiful girl with a camelia in her hair?” he asked, pointing to his sister, who stood near her mother with a group of admirers about her.

“That is Helen Armitage,” replied Miss Rumsey, proud of her knowledge of the belle of the evening.

“I shall claim your promise of an introduction,” answered Harry, “she does not appear at all proud.”

The sisters looked confused, and Harry pitying their evident uneasiness almost repented of his scheme, when he heard his mother’s name coupled with that of “dear Helen,” mentioned in the most familiar manner by Mrs. Rumsey, who was enlarging upon the delightful summer excursion which she had so much enjoyed with her dear friend Mrs. Armitage. Harry could bear this no longer, but rising, addressed Mrs. Rumsey.

“My dear madam, your daughters have kindly promised me an introduction to Miss Armitage, but as the young lady is engaged at present, may I beg your kind offices in making me acquainted with her mother, who it seems is your intimate friend, and I will trust to my own address in winning her daughter’s suffrage.”

Just then Mrs. Grey, accompanied by young Rumsey, approached. She had heard Harry’s speech, and Mrs. Rumsey finding herself completely cornered, and elated by her confidential conversation with the strange lady, who was evidently a guest of note, determined by a bold stroke to master her dilemma. She accordingly, despite her daughters’ appealing looks, rose, and accompanied by Harry and her son, approached Mrs. Armitage, and dropping a profound courtesy, said very rapidly —

“My dear Mrs. Armitage, you have perhaps forgotten me, as we have not met since last summer, but allow me to present you my son, Mr. Samuel Rumsey, a college chum and companion of your son Henry, they were great friends, I assure you; and this is a young protégé of mine, very desirous to make your acquaintance, Mr. Harry Lee.”

“Armitage!” added Mrs. Grey, who stood at her shoulder.

Mrs. Rumsey looked around in surprise, and Mrs. Armitage with a flushed cheek, rose from her seat, saying haughtily —

“The introduction is altogether valueless, as yourself and son are both entirely unknown to me—and as to this young gentleman,” she added, turning with a displeased air to the ci devant Mr. Lee, “it is scarcely necessary to introduce a son to his mother, though I marvel much at finding him in such society.” And placing her hand upon her son’s arm she moved away with a stately air.

Poor Mrs. Rumsey stood perfectly still in a state of blank bewilderment, while Mrs. Grey exclaimed —

“How could you, Mrs. Ramsey, present Harry Armitage as a stranger to his mother, can it be possible that you had no acquaintance with her after all?”

Mrs. Rumsey looked around, she saw the suppressed smile that hovered on the lips of those about her, and murmuring something about explaining it all on another occasion, hastily left the room. Her daughters had already vanished, and as for Samuel Rumsey, Esq., he was no where.

Mrs. Armitage was some time in becoming reconciled to the stratagem of Mrs. Grey and Harry, but finding herself no longer haunted by the Rumseys, forgave the two conspirators at last.

The Rumseys found it convenient to leave town immediately. Their furniture was sold—the house rented to another tenant, and “The people who knew every body and whom nobody knew,” ceased to be talked of or remembered.

But many hundred miles away, in another state, the Rumseys still flourish, and occasionally boast of their charming friend Harry Armitage, and the elegant Mrs. Grey.

Who that mingles in the harlequin crowd of this jostling, restless world, has not known one person at least who might belong to the Rumseys?