Dr. Lacey answered calmly, “What reason has Miss Woodburn to think I am in love with either.”

“No reason,” said Mabel, quickly; “neither does she think you are in love with her either.”

“Dear me,” said Lida.  “Of course you do not wish me to think so, and we all know why; but never mind frowning so dreadfully, Mabel; I won’t tell!” and the mischievous girl glided away, laughing to think that she had succeeded so well in teasing Mabel Mortimer.

After a moment, Dr. Lacey turned to Florence and said “It seems you saw Julia Middleton.  Do you not think her very handsome?”

“Yes, very,” answered Florence; “but I liked Fanny’s looks the best.”

A pang shot through Dr. Lacey’s heart at the mention of Fanny’s name, but he continued to inquire concerning his friends in Kentucky.  Before the party closed, Florence, Mabel and Lida had each managed to repeat to him all the conversation which he had overheard in the first part of the evening, never once thinking how desolate was the heart which beat beneath the calm manner and gay laugh of him who listened to their thoughtless raillery.

At length the party drew to a close.  Dr. Lacey was among the first that left.  He longed to be alone with his troubled thoughts.  Mechanically bidding Mabel “Good night,” he ran down the marble steps, and stepping into his carriage, ordered Claib, the coachman, to drive home as soon as possible.  There was no particular necessity for this command, for Claib had been fretting for the last hour about “White folks settin’ up all night and keepin’ niggers awake.  Darned if he didn’t run the horses home like Satan, and sleep over next day, too.”

With such a driver the horses sped swiftly over the smooth road and in a very few minutes Dr. Lacey was at home, alone in his room.  Then the full tide of his sorrow burst forth.  He did not weep.  He would scorn to do that.  But could one have seen him as he hurriedly paced the apartment, he would have said, his was a sorrow which could not vent itself in tears.  Occasionally he would whisper to himself, “My Fanny false!—­she whom I believed so truthful, so loving, so innocent!  And she loves another—­one, too, whom it were almost a sin to love.  Fool, that I did not see it before, for what but love could have drawn such devotion to him on his deathbed?  And yet she assured me that I was the first, the only one, she had ever loved; and I believed it, and gave her the entire affection of my heart.”

Then came a reaction.  Resentment toward Fanny for thus deceiving him mingling with his grief.  But he had loved her too deeply, too truly, to cherish an unkind feeling toward her long.  Throwing himself upon the sofa, and burying his face in his hands, he went back in fancy through all the many happy hours he had spent in her society.  While doing this sleep descended upon him and in his dreams he saw again his darling Fanny, not false and faithless as he had feared, but arrayed in a spotless bridal robe.  She stood by his side as his own wedded wife.  Was that dream ever realized?  We shall see.