Before Delamere had done anathematizing his folly in giving the saucy Lilla such a loop-hole to throw him over, the trumpet sounded, folding doors opened, and fifty people sat down to the cheery repast.

The table was bright with regimental plate, racing cups, and hot-house flowers.  The band commenced playing “Selections,” somewhat deafening, perhaps, but then it was too cold to put them out of doors.

Cecil and Bluebell were neither of them too much gratified at witnessing the furious flirtation going on at dinner between Captain Du Meresq and Miss Tremaine; but Cecil, who never looked at them, and therefore, of course, saw everything, fancied the admiration most on the lady’s side, and even some of her oeillades, bravado.  To be sure Bertie never did flirt seriously en evidence, if he could help it.

Bluebell, completely out of sorts, was acquiring a painful experience.  Du Meresq’s conduct seemed inexplicable and provoking as she pondered indignantly on her walk at the Humber, and mentally ejaculated with Miss Squeers, “Is this the hend?”

Jack, temporarily discouraged by her indifference to himself, which came on rather rapidly at dinner, gave his next neighbour the benefit of his conversation.

But this unsatisfactory repast to our heroines was not unnecessarily prolonged, the mess-room having to be cleared for the great business of the evening, which, let us hope will prove what it is sure to be called in next day’s discussion “a very good ball.”

Why this undescriptive phrase should be applied to every well-attended dance, with a supper, has always perplexed us; for, of course, every one really judges it by his or her own personal success and enjoyment, not unfrequently incompatible with that of some one else.  Yet it is all summed up next morning in the summary verdict “good,” or “bad.”  If there is a deficiency of gentlemen, space, supper, or ton, the latter; but given these indispensables, you may have been jilted for your bosom friend by your latest conquest, yet you must come up smiling, and endorse the public panegyric on the hated evening till the subject be superseded.

Bluebell, a few weeks ago, would have looked upon this ball as the acme of delight.  She was in great request, and, indeed, attained that highest object of young lady ambition, being belle of the evening; but now her happiness did not depend on the many—­dance after dance passed, and the only partner she cared for had not once engaged her.

Bertie had been sitting out half the evening with Lilla in a conservatory, and when they did emerge, was seized on by his brother-in-law with very black looks, and introduced to a somewhat unappreciated young lady.

Bertie had the happy knack of appearing equally charmed, whether presented to a beauty or the reverse; but he inscribed himself very low down on her card, remorselessly ignoring the intervening blanks, and then approached Cecil, who, in black and amber, was the most striking-looking girl in the room.  Though inferior in beauty to many, her fine figure and expressive eyes could never pass unnoticed.