Maurice again saw Fay Lafitte that evening at a ball given at the hotel by the lake where they were both staying.  She was standing among a group of girls laughing and talking gayly, but to a close observer this light gayety might appear a symptom of restlessness rather than a proof of enjoyment.  With her shining eyes and her crimson cheeks and lips she looked the Allegro of her morning’s Penseroso.  The young doctor took a station where he would not be remarked, and, forgetting Mrs. Felton’s sage advice, kept his eyes fixed on the graceful girl.  She gave him the impression of one who had been brought up in some foreign land, where public opinion is more exacting and the bounds of propriety more restricted than in ours.  She was clearly a favorite among the ladies with whom she conversed.  Several middle-aged gentlemen approached her with their wives and met a kind reception, but she avoided young men with a perversity that was amusing.  In a person speaking to her he recognized an acquaintance, and, awaiting his opportunity, addressed him.  After the first salutations he asked, “Mr. Allen, do you know Miss Lafitte?”

“From a child:  her father is my oldest friend.”

“Was she educated abroad?”

“Bless you! no:  she is altogether American in training.”

“Isn’t she rather peculiar?” ventured Maurice.

“If by peculiar you mean the sweetest girl in the world, she is that,” replied the old man enthusiastically.

“Is she generally liked?”

“Not by dandies and coxcombs:  my little girl over there adores her.  But let me introduce you.”

“Willingly,” ejaculated the other.

“Wait a moment:  I will ask her permission.”

As Mr. Allen went to prefer his request the doctor narrowly watched the result.  A slight accession of color on the lady’s face as her old friend indicated him told Maurice he had been recognized; which fact rendered her answer more annoying, for “Miss Lafitte begged to be excused:  she was fatigued and wished to retire.”

But she did not retire, as he saw with an irritation that grew as the evening advanced.  For what reason did she refuse to make his acquaintance?  Did she extend to him the dislike she had for his cousin?  Did she class him among the fops, or was it but a caprice?

Now, Dr. Grey was a truthful man, and he told himself the case interested him.  When, later, he was accosted by an old college-chum, George Clifton, who proceeded to give him the newest confidential slander at the lake, it was but natural he should try to unravel this mystery.

“What do you fellows mean by not surrounding that beauty over there?  Where are your eyes?” he asked.

“Miss Lafitte?  We have dubbed her the man-hater.  She has never been known to make herself agreeable to any male creature under fifty, and not then if he were either a bachelor or a widower.  A fellow is obliged to marry before he can be received.  Rather too great a sacrifice, isn’t it?”