“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Hardcastle.  “It’s all right.  It’s only Dick, you know, my son Dick; and bless my heart, the boy’s good taste too.  He inherited it.”

“Take my arm or let me take yours,” muttered De Forest to Bell as Mr. Hardcastle turned away, “and do let’s get through it with his good lady.  Do you suppose she’ll kiss me?  Get her to make it easy for me, won’t you?”

“Where now?” asked Bell, undecidedly, after the due politenesses with the hostess had been exchanged.  The woods were fairly ablaze with bonfires and hanging lanterns, making a strangely brilliant and fantastic scene.  Here and there rugs were spread out on the grass for the older people to congregate upon in gossiping groups, while the young ones had speedily converted a large, smooth spot of lawn into an impromptu dancing-ground, and were whirling merrily away to the music of the band, in the very face of the scandalized Mrs. Upjohn.  This last field of action was the first to attract Bell’s quick eye.  “Oh, come,” she said.  “Of course you dance?”

De Forest gave a shudder.  “My dear young lady! no sane man ever dances.  But pray do not let me detain you.  Where your heart is, there would your feet be also.”  He dropped her arm as he spoke.  Bell shrugged her shoulders and put her arm back in his.

“’Tisn’t fair to abandon you so soon after bringing you here.  There’s Janet Mudge” (hastily selected as the plainest girl present and the farthest from Gerald, toward whom De Forest’s steps were manifestly directing themselves); “let’s go and speak to her.”

“On the contrary, let us avoid her by every means in our power,” said De Forest, imperturbably, walking Bell off in the opposite direction.  “I never choose pearls when I may have diamonds.  There’s Miss Vernor.  We’ll go and speak with her.”

“But I don’t want to,” objected Bell, crossly.  “I am not at all as fond of Miss Vernor as you are.”

“Naturally not,” answered De Forest, pursuing his way undisturbed.  “Men always like girls better than girls do.  I appreciate your feelings.  But she’s got that good-looking young minister with her.  You like him.  All feminine souls incline to clergymen next to officers.  Buttons first; then surplices.”

“Thirdly, For(r)esters, I suppose,” suggested Bell, saucily.

“Undoubtedly,” assented her companion.  “Miss Vernor, your humble servant.”  His glance, as it invaribly did when they met, seemed to make swift, approbative note of every smallest particular of her appearance.  “Mr. Halloway, here is a young lady who has just openly informed me that she prefers you to me, so I suppose I must resign her to you with what grace I can.  Don’t you think, Miss Vernor, you might try to divert my mind from dwelling too cruelly on Miss Masters’ defalcation by showing me what Mr. Hardcastle’s grand intellect has devised for my entertainment?  That bonfire yonder has a sort of cannibalistic look about it suggestive of dancing negroes and unmentionable