“I am not going,” she replied, quickly.

“Not going?  I beg your pardon, my dear, but you are!” and he took her hand.

She half endeavored to withdraw it, threw a backward glance over her shoulder at the remaining pair, and, led by her father, went out.

Marguerite did her best to forget the vexation, was very affable with her father, and took no notice of any of Mr. Heath’s prolonged remarks.  The drive was at best a tiresome one, and she was already half-asleep when the carriage stopped.  The noise and light, and the little vanities of the dressing-room, awakened her, and she descended prepared for conquest.  But, after a few moments, it all became weariness, the air was close, the flowers faded, the music piercing.  The toilets did not attract nor the faces interest her.  She danced along absent and spiritless, when her eye, raised dreamily, fell on an object among the curtains and lay fascinated there.  It was certainly Mr. Raleigh:  but so little likely did that seem, that she again circled the room, with her eyes bent upon that point, expecting it to vanish.  He must have come in the saddle, unless a coach had returned for him and Mrs. Purcell,—­yes, there was Mrs. Purcell,—­and she wore that sweet-brier fresh-blossoming in the light.  With what ease she moved!—­it must always have been the same grace;—­how brilliant she was!  There,—­she was going to dance with Mr. Raleigh.  No?  Where, then?  Into the music-room!

The music-room lay beyond an anteroom of flowers and prints, and was closed against the murmur of the parlors by great glass doors.  Marguerite, from her position, could see Mr. Raleigh seated at the piano, and Mrs. Purcell standing by his side; now she turned a leaf, now she stooped, and their hands touched upon the keys.  Marguerite slipped alone through the dancers, and drew nearer.  There were others in the music-room, but they were at a distance from the piano.  She entered the anteroom and sat shadowed among the great fragrant shrubs.  A group already stood there, eating ices and gayly gossiping.  Mr. Laudersdale and Mr. Manton sauntered in, their heads together, and muttering occult matters of business, whose tally was kept with forefinger on palm.

“Where is Raleigh?” asked Mr. Manton, looking up.  “He can tell us.”

“At his old occupation,” answered a gentleman from beside Mrs. Laudersdale, “flirting with forbidden fruit.”

“An alliterative amusement,” said Mrs. Laudersdale.

“You did not know the original Raleigh?” continued the gentleman.  “But he always took pleasure in female society; yet, singularly enough, though fastidious in choice, it was only upon the married ladies that he bestowed his platonisms.  I observe the old Adam still clings to him.”

“He probably found more liberty with them,” remarked Mrs. Laudersdale, when no one else replied.

“Without doubt he took it.”

“I mean, that, where attentions are known to intend nothing, one is not obliged to measure them, or to calculate upon effects.”