“Why, don’t you remember when Ada came here with a gentleman—­let me see, who was it?—­well, no matter who ’twas—­she came with a gentleman—­he was ushered into the parlor, while you took her into a side room, then into a side passage, and out at the side door, kindly telling her to beware of the gentleman in the parlor, who could want nothing good of sewing girls!”

“You are very entertaining to-night,” said Lucy; to which Berintha replied: 

“You did not think I could be so agreeable, did you, when you asked me to keep out of sight this evening, and said that such old fudges as grandma and I would appear much better in our rooms, taking snuff, and nodding at each other over our knitting work?”

Lucy looked so distressed that Lizzie pitied her, and touching Berintha she said, “Please don’t talk any more.”

At that moment supper was announced, and after it was over St. Leon departed, notwithstanding Lucy’s urgent request that he would remain longer.  As the street door closed after him she felt that she would gladly have seen every other guest depart also.  A moody fit came on, and the party would have been voted a failure had it not been for the timely interference of Dr. Benton and Berintha.  Together they sought out any who seemed neglected, entertaining them to the best of their ability, and leaving with every one the impression that they were the best-natured couple in the world.  At eleven o’clock, Lizzie, wearied out, repaired to her chamber.  Her departure was the signal for others, and before one o’clock the last good night was said, the doors locked, the silver gathered up, the tired servants dismissed, and Lucy, in her sister’s room, was giving vent to her wrath against Berintha, the party, St. Leon, and all.

Scolding, however, could do her no good, and ere long, throwing herself undressed upon a lounge she fell asleep, and dreamed that grandma was married to the doctor, that Berintha had become her stepmother, and, worse than all, that Ada Harcourt was Mrs. St. Leon.

CHAPTER IX.

A WEDDING AT ST. LUKE’S.

The day but one following the party, as Lucy was doing some shopping down street she stepped for a moment into her dressmaker’s, Miss Carson’s, where she found three or four of her companions, all eagerly discussing what seemed to be quite an interesting topic.  As Lucy entered, one of them turning toward her said; “Oh, isn’t it strange?  Or haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” asked Lucy; and her companion replied: 

“Why, Ada Harcourt is going to be married.  Miss Carson is making her the most beautiful traveling dress, with silk hat to match—­”

“Besides three or four elegant silk dresses,” chimed in another.

“And the most charming morning-gown you ever saw—­apple green, and dark green, striped—­and lined with pink silk,” rejoined a third.

By this time Lucy had sunk into the nearest chair.  The truth had flashed upon her, as it probably has upon you; but as she did not wish to betray her real emotions she forced a little bitter laugh, and said, “St. Leon, I suppose, is the bridegroom.”