She went, therefore, to Saratoga in great spirits, and with an unusual wardrobe.  The opposing general, Field-marshal Mrs. Budlong Dinks, had certainly the advantage of position, for Hope Wayne was of her immediate party, and she could devise as many opportunities as she chose for bringing Mr. Alfred and his cousin together.  She did not lose her chances.  There were little parties for bowling in the morning, and early walking, and Fanny was invited very often, but sometimes omitted, as if to indicate that she was not an essential part of the composition.  There was music in the parlor before dinner, and working of purses and bags before the dressing-bell.  There was the dinner itself, and the promenade, with music, afterward.  Drives, then, and riding; the glowing return at sunset—­the cheerful cup of tea—­the reappearance, in delightful toilet, for the evening dance—­windows—­balconies—­piazzas—­moonlight!

Every time that Fanny, warm with the dance, declared that she must have fresh air, and that was every time she danced with Alfred, she withdrew, attended by him, to the cool, dim piazza, and every time Mrs. Dinks beheld the departure.  On the cool, dim piazza the music sounded more faintly, the quiet moonlight filled the air, and life seemed all romance and festival.

“How beautiful after the hot room!” Fanny said, one evening as they sat there.

“Yes, how beautiful!” replied Alfred.

“How happy I feel!” sighed Fanny.  “Ever since I have been here I have been so happy!”

“Have you been happy?  So I have been happy too.  How very funny!” replied Alfred.

“Yes; but pleasant too.  Sympathy is always pleasant.”  And Fanny turned her large black eyes upon him, while the young Dinks was perplexed by a singular feeling of happiness.

They were content to moralize upon sympathy for some time.  Alfred was fascinated, and a little afraid.  Fanny moved her Junonine shoulders, bent her swan-like neck, drew off one glove and played with her rings, fanned herself gently at intervals, and, with just enough embarrassment not to frighten her companion, opened and closed her fan.

“What a fine fellow Bowdoin Beacon is!” said Miss Fanny, a little suddenly, and in a tone of suppressed admiration, as she drew on her glove and laid her fan in her lap, as if on the point of departure.

“Yes, he’s a very good sort of fellow.”

“How cold you men always are in speaking of each other!  I think him a splendid fellow.  He’s so handsome.  He has such glorious dark hair—­almost as dark as yours, Mr. Dinks.”

Alfred half raged, half smiled.

“Do you know,” continued Fanny, looking down a little, and speaking a little lower—­“do you know if he has any particular favorites among the girls here?”

Alfred was dreadfully alarmed.

“If he has, how happy they must be!  I think him a magnificent sort of man; but not precisely the kind I should think a girl would fall in love with.  Should you?”