the ladies in the drawing-room added a charm of its own to the flush that her exercises before the glass had left on her face.  Shyly following instead of leading her little companion into the room, she presented such a charming appearance of youth and beauty that the ladies paused in their talk to look at her.  Some few admired Kitty’s governess with generous interest; the greater number doubted Mrs. Linley’s prudence in engaging a girl so very pretty and so very young.  Little by little, Sydney’s manner—­simple, modest, shrinking from observation—­pleaded in her favor even with the ladies who had been prejudiced against her at the outset.  When Mrs. Linley presented her to the guests, the most beautiful woman among them (Mrs. MacEdwin) made room for her on the sofa, and with perfect tact and kindness set the stranger at her ease.  When the gentlemen came in from the dinner-table, Sydney was composed enough to admire the brilliant scene, and to wonder again, as she had wondered already, what Mr. Linley would say to her new dress.

Mr. Linley certainly did notice her—­at a distance.

He looked at her with a momentary fervor of interest and admiration which made Sydney (so gratefully and so guiltlessly attached to him) tremble with pleasure; he even stepped forward as if to approach her, checked himself, and went back again among his guests.  Now, in one part of the room, and now in another, she saw him speaking to them.  The one neglected person whom he never even looked at again, was the poor girl to whom his approval was the breath of her life.  Had she ever felt so unhappy as she felt now?  No, not even at her aunt’s school!

Friendly Mrs. MacEdwin touched her arm.  “My dear, you are losing your pretty color.  Are you overcome by the heat?  Shall I take you into the next room?”

Sydney expressed her sincere sense of the lady’s kindness.  Her commonplace excuse was a true excuse—­she had a headache; and she asked leave to retire to her room.

Approaching the door, she found herself face to face with Mr. Linley.  He had just been giving directions to one of the servants, and was re-entering the drawing-room.  She stopped, trembling and cold; but, in the very intensity of her wretchedness, she found courage enough to speak to him.

“You seem to avoid me, Mr. Linley,” she began, addressing him with ceremonious respect, and keeping her eyes on the ground.  “I hope—­” she hesitated, and desperately looked at him—­“I hope I haven’t done anything to offend you?”

In her knowledge of him, up to that miserable evening, he constantly spoke to her with a smile.  She had never yet seen him so serious and so inattentive as he was now.  His eyes, wandering round the room, rested on Mrs. Linley—­brilliant and beautiful, and laughing gayly.  Why was he looking at his wife with plain signs of embarrassment in his face?  Sydney piteously persisted in repeating her innocent question:  “I hope I haven’t done anything to offend you?”