“I am not surprised,” said Mr. Somers.  “Mrs. Hepburn knows where to bestow.  Why not wear them?”

“I’ll get them,” said Ann.

Mr. Somers continued his compliments.  He thought there was a pleasing contrast between Adelaide and myself, referred to Diana, mentioned that my hair was remarkably thick, and proceeded with a dissertation on the growth and decay of the hair, when she returned with the ear-rings.

“It is too dark here,” she said.

Desmond, who had remained silent, took the candle, which Mrs. Somers was reading by, and held it for Ann, close to my face.  The operation was over, but the candle was not taken away till Mrs. Somers asked for it sharply.

“I dare say,” murmured Mr. Somers, who was growing drowsy, “that Mrs. Hepburn wore them some night, when she went to John Munster’s, forty years ago, and now you wear them to the son’s.  How things come round!”

The Munsters’ man opened the door for us.

The rooms were full.  “Very glad,” said Mr., Mrs., and Miss Munster, and amid a loud buzz we fell back into obscurity.  Adelaide joined a group, who were talking at the top of their voices, with most hilarious countenances.

“They pretend to have a Murillo here, let us go and find it,” said Ben.

It was in a small room.  While we looked at a dark-haired, handsome woman, standing on brown clouds, with hands so fat that every finger stood apart, Miss Munster brought up a young gentleman with the Munster cast of countenance.

“My brother begs an introduction, Miss Morgeson.”

Ben retired, and Mr. Munster began to talk volubly, with wandering eyes, repeating words he was in danger of forgetting.  No remarks were required from me.  At the proper moment he asked me to make the tour of the rooms, and offered his arm.  As we were crossing the hall, I saw Despond, hat in hand, and in faultless evening dress, bowing to Miss Munster.

“Your Cousin Desmond, and mine, is a fine-looking man, is he not?  Let us speak to him.”

I drew back.  “I’ll not interrupt his devoir.”

He bowed submissively.

“My cousin Desmond,” I thought; “let me examine this beauty.”  He was handsomer than Ben, his complexion darker, and his hair black.  There was a flush across his cheek-bones, as if he had once blushed, and the blush had settled.  The color of his eyes I could not determine.  As if to resolve my doubt, he came toward us; they were a deep violet, and the lids were fringed with long black lashes.  I speculated on something animal in those eyes.  He stood beside me, and twisted his heavy mustache.

“What a pretty boudoir this is,” I said, backing into a little room behind us.

“Ned,” he said abruptly, “you must resign Miss Morgeson; I am here to see her.”

“Of course,” Ned answered; “I relinquish.”

Before a word was spoken between us, Mrs. Munster touched Desmond on the shoulder, and told him that he must come with her, to be introduced to Count Montholon.