paly gold, while on her head was a coronal of sapphire and gold, with a marvellous little plume.  The cost must have been enormous, and her delicate and spirituelle beauty was shown to the greatest advantage; but as the audience was far too scanty to be worth beginning upon, Cecil, with a sigh at the folly of maternal idolatry, went to hunt up her ladies from gazing at the babyish amusements of their offspring; and Miss Moy, in spite of her remonstrance, jumped up to follow her; while Mrs. Duncombe, the only good mother in this new sense, remained, keeping guard lest curiosity, and the echo of piano music, which now began to be heard, should attract away any more of the ladies.

Cecil was by no means prepared for the scene.  The drawing-room was crowded—­chiefly indeed with ladies and children, but there was a fair sprinkling of gentlemen—­and all had their faces turned towards the great glass doors opening into the conservatory, which was brilliantly lighted and echoing with music and laughter.  Cecil tried to summon some of the ladies of her own inviting, announcing that Mrs. Tallboys was arrived; but this appeared to have no effect.  “Yes, thank you,” was all she heard.  Penetrating a little farther, “Mrs. Tallboys is ready.”  “Thank you, I’ll come; but my little people are so anxious to have me with them.”—­“Mrs. Tallboys is waiting!” to the next; who really did not hear, but only responded, “Did you ever see anything more charming?”

By this time Cecil could see over the heads of the front rank of children.  She hardly knew the conservatory.  All the veteran camellia and orange-trees, and a good many bay and laurel boughs besides, were ranged along the central alley, gorgeous with fairy lamps and jewels, while strains of soft music proceeded from some unseen quarter.  “Very pretty!” said Cecil, hastily, trying another of her intended guests with her intelligence.  “Really—­yes, presently, thank you,” was the absent answer.  “There is some delightful mystery in there.”

Cecil found her attempts were vain, and was next asked, as one of the household, what delicious secret was going on there; and as it hurt her feelings to be left out, she pressed into the conservatory, with some vague intention of ordering Anne, if not Rosamond, to release her grown-up audience, and confine their entertainment to the children; but she found herself at once caught by the hand by a turbaned figure like a prince in the Arabian Nights, who, with a low salaam, waved her on.

“No, thank you.  I’m looking for—­”

But retreat was impossible, for many were crowding up in eager curiosity; moreover, a muslin bandage descended-on her eyes.  “Don’t!” she expostulated; “I’m not at play—­I’m—­” but her words were lost.

“Hush! the Peri’s cave is near,
No one enters scatheless here;
Lightly tread and lowly bend,
Win the Peri for your friend,”