with the Viscount Vincent once; and after that declined all invitations to the floor.  Nor did Lord Vincent dance again.  He seemed to prefer to devote himself to his lovely young hostess for the evening.  The viscount was the lion of the party, and his exclusive attention to the young heiress could not escape observation.  Everyone noticed and commented upon it.  Nor was Claudia insensible to the honor of being the object of this exclusive devotion from his lordship.  She was flattered, and when Claudia was in this state her beauty became radiant.

Among those who watched the incipient flirtation commencing between the viscount and the heiress was Beatrice Middleton.  She had come late.  She had had all the children to see properly fed and put to bed before she could begin to dress herself.  And one restless little brother had kept her by his crib singing songs and telling stories until ten o’clock before he finally dropped off to sleep, and left her at liberty to go to her room and dress herself for the ball.  Her dress was simplicity itself—­a plain white tarletan with white ribbons; but it well became the angelic purity of her type of beauty.  Her golden ringlets and sapphire eyes were the only jewels she wore, the roses on her cheeks the only flowers.  When she entered the dancing room she saw four quadrilles in active progress on the floor; and about four hundred spectators crowded along the walls, some sitting, some standing, some reclining, and some grouped.  She passed on, greeting courteously those with whom she had a speaking acquaintance, smiling kindly upon others, and observing all.  In this way she reached the group of which Claudia Merlin and Lord Vincent formed the center.  A cursory glance showed her that one for whom she looked was not among them.  With a bow and a smile to the group she turned away and went up to where Judge Merlin stood for the moment alone.

“Uncle,” she said, in a tone slightly reproachful, “is not Ishmael to be with us this evening?”

“My dear, I invited him to join us, but he excused himself.”

“Of course, naturally he would do so at first, thinking doubtless that you asked him as a mere matter of form.  Uncle, considering his position, you ought to have pressed him to come.  You ought not to have permitted him to excuse himself, if you really were in earnest with your invitation.  Were you in earnest, sir?”

“Why, of course I was, my dear!  Why shouldn’t I have been?  I should have been really glad to see the young man here enjoying himself this evening.”

“Have I your authority for saying so much to Ishmael, even now, uncle?” inquired Bee eagerly.

“Certainly, my love.  Go and oust him from his den.  Bring him down here, if you like—­and if you can,” said the judge cheerily.

Bee left him, glided like a spirit through the crowd, passed from the room and went upstairs, flight after flight, until she reached the third floor, and rapped at Ishmael’s door.