“I was not aware you knew Mrs. Ford,” said Mrs. Markham, observing the little flutter in Julia’s cheeks, and thinking there was a meaning in Bart’s persiflage.

“Mrs. Ford and General Ford,” he answered with much warmth, “have been so very, very kind to me, that I have presumed to claim her acquaintance, even here; but then, they have only known me three months,” with affected despair.

“Well,” said Mrs. Ford, “what of that?”

“I find you with those who have known me all my life,” with a deprecating look towards Mrs. Markham.

“Well, Mr. Ridgeley, you are not deserving of forbearance at my hands, if I only knew of anything bad to say of you.”

“What exquisite irony!  May I be permitted to know which of my thousand faults is now specially remembered against me?”

“You have not permitted me, until this moment, even to speak to you since your return last summer.”

“May I ask that you will permit that to stand with my other misdemeanors until some rare fortune enables me to atone for all at once?”

“And when will that be?”

“Oh!

  In that blissful never,
  When the Sundays come together,
  When the sun and glorious weather
  Wrap the earth in spring forever;
  As in that past time olden,
  Which poets call the golden.”

Laughing.

“And so I have poetry, and inspire it myself—­that is some compensation, certainly,” said Mrs. Markham, smiling.

“I fear my verses have deepened my offence,” said Bart, with affected gravity.

Kate Fisher intervened here:  “Mr. Ridgeley, I have more cause for offence than even Mrs. Markham.  Why didn’t you come to my little party?  I made it on your account.”

“The offence was great,” he answered, “but then staying away was ample punishment, as you must know.”

“No, I don’t know it.  I know you weren’t there, and your excuse was merely a regret, which always means one don’t want to go.”

“Oh, Mrs. Ford!” said Bart, “see what your coming here, or my coming here, exposes me to!”

“Have I heard the worst?”

“Well, you see, Mrs. Ford,” said Kate, “that Mr. Ridgeley can waltz, and so can Miss Walters, and I made a little party to see them waltz, and he didn’t come.”

“That is grave.  Will you leave it to me to pass judgment upon him?”

“I will.”

“And do you submit, Mr. Ridgeley?”

“She’s so very kind to you,” remarked Mrs. Markham.

“I do,” said the young man, “and will religiously perform the sentence.”

“Well, it won’t be a religious exercise—­you are to waltz with Miss Walters, now and here.”

A little clapping of little hands marked the righteousness of the award.

“Mrs. Ford,” observed the culprit, “your judgment, as usual, falls heaviest on the innocent.  Miss Walters, it remains for you to say whether this sentence shall be executed.  If you will permit me the honor, I shall undergo execution with an edifying resignation.”