“Yes.  Who is that girl yonder?”

“Miss Wildmere.  Isn’t she lovely?  She promised me, last week, her first dance for this evening.  Will you excuse me for a little while?”

“Certainly;” and yet she was conscious of a sudden and odd little protest at heart.

He approached the beauty.  Miss Wildmere’s face flushed with pleasure and softened into a welcoming smile, such as she had not yet bestowed upon any who had sought her favor.  Then, in swift alternation, she bent upon Madge a brief, cold glance of scrutiny.  So brief was it, and so complacent was the expression of the belle as she turned away, that the pallid, sensitive girl was told, as by words, “You are nothing.”

That glance was like a sharp, deep wound, and pierced where she was most vulnerable.  It said to her, “You are not capable of being anything to Graydon Muir.  I am not in the least afraid of you.”

What was she to him?  What did she wish to be?  To these questions Madge had but one answer.  Any and every girl, in her belief, would be only too glad to win him.  He had said that Miss Wildmere was lovely; his eyes had expressed an admiration which he had never bestowed upon her; he had led the beauty away with a glad content in his face, and the crowded room was made empty by their absence.

She was no longer conscious of weakness, but, obeying her impulse, sprang up and followed them to the ballroom.  Concealed by a little group she stood, unwearied, and watched them as they glided hither and thither with a grace that attracted many eyes.  The music appeared to control and animate them, and their motion was harmony itself.  Graydon evidently thought only of his fair partner; but her swift glances were everywhere, gathering the rich revenue of admiration which was freely offered.  For a second she encountered Madge’s large black eyes, full of trouble, and a satirical smile proved that she enjoyed the poor girl’s solicitude.  To deepen it she looked up at Graydon and said something that caused his face to flush with pleasure.  His response was more decisive, for the swift color came into her face, and her eyes drooped.  The by-play was momentary, and would not have been seen by a less vigilant observer than Madge; but to her it gave the undoubted impression that they were lovers.  When Miss Wildmere looked again to see the result of her unkindly strategy, Madge was gone.

In reaction she had grown almost faint, and reached her former retreat with difficulty.  But all her latent womanhood speedily rallied to meet this strange and but half-comprehended emergency.  The impulse now uppermost was to retain her self-control and reach the seclusion of her own room.  How she was to endure the long hours she scarcely knew.  She did not dare to think.  Indeed, the effort was scarcely possible, for her mind was at first in tumult, with only one thing clear, a poignant sense of loss and trouble.