“Wait a moment,” said she, with a peculiar grave smile; “I’ll bring you your protege.”

Bressant was standing in the door-way of an inner room, leaning with the elbow of one arm in the hand of the other, as he pulled at his mustache and twisted the beard on his chin.  He looked ill at ease, and as if he rather regretted his intrepidity in coming down.  Had he been what is called a student of human nature, he might have been interested in the quaint people and customs which an occasion like this would bring to light.  But he believed that all the traits and elements of mankind at large were comprised, in a superior form, within himself, and that, knowing himself, he would virtually know the world.  This somewhat exclusive creed had, doubtless, been aided and abetted by his deafness, which, even had he been otherwise inclined by nature, must have thrown him back, in great measure, upon himself; or, possibly, the dogma may have been but an outgrowth of the physical defect:  he fights hard and well, in this world, who counteracts the bias given by bodily infirmity.  In any case, however, since such was the position of his mind, he could scarcely be expected to derive much entertainment from a social occasion like the present.  It is even uncertain whether he would not actually have repented and taken to flight, had not Abbie come up at the critical moment, and carried him off to Cornelia.

“I wanted to have the pleasure of presenting Mr. Bressant to you myself,” said she, with the same peculiar smile; and so left them together.

The young man stood confronting the young woman, who, besides being dressed with great taste, looked, owing to the whimsical circumstances in which she was placed, every bit of beauty she had.  Bressant stared at her in astonishment.

One woman’s beauty cannot be contrasted with another’s; as well compare a summer valley with the white clouds sailing over it; each is to be enjoyed in its own way.  But Cornelia’s loveliness carried with it a peculiar quality, which not only gratified the eye, but went further, and seemed to touch a vital chord in the beholder, jarring throughout his being with a sweet distribution of effect, and causing heart and voice to vibrate.  It made Bressant conscious in every fibre that he was man and she woman.  Whence came the influence he could not tell, and meanwhile it gained ever stronger and deeper hold upon him.  Was it from the eyes, a-sparkle with the essence of youth and health? or from the mouth, with its red warmth of full yet delicate curves? the gates of what sweetness of breath! or from the crisp, dark, lustreless luxuriance of the hair? or from the curved shadows melting on the cheeks, and nestling beneath the chin?  He could trace it to no single one of these various elements—­yet how lovely all were!  Whence, then, was it?  In a bottle of wine there are many drops, alike in color, shape, flavor, and sparkle; in which one, of all, lurks the intoxication?  The only way to make sure of the drop is to drink the bottle; and, even then, though there will be no doubt about the intoxication, its precise origin may still be disputed.