Full of his purpose, involving the plans of his whole life, implying, as he saw clearly, a brilliant future or a disastrous disappointment, with a great unexploded mine of consequences under his feet, and the spark ready to fall into it, he walked about the gilded saloon with a smile upon his lips so perfectly natural and pleasant, that one would have said he was as vacant of any aim, except a sort of superficial good-matured disposition to be amused, as the blankest-eyed simpleton who had tied himself up in a white cravat and come to bore and be bored.

Yet under this pleasant smile his mind was so busy with its thoughts that he had forgotten all about the guests from Oxbow Village who, as Myrtle had told him, were to come this evening.  His eye was all at once caught by a familiar figure, and he recognized Master Byles Gridley, accompanied by Mr. Gifted Hopkins, at the door of the saloon.  He stepped forward at once to meet, and to present them.

Mr. Gridley in evening costume made an eminently dignified and respectable appearance.  There was an unusual lock of benignity upon his firmly moulded features, and an air of ease which rather surprised Mr. Bradshaw, who did not know all the social experiences which had formed a part of the old Master’s history.  The greeting between them was courteous, but somewhat formal, as Mr. Bradshaw was acting as one of the masters of ceremony.  He nodded to Gifted in an easy way, and led them both into the immediate Presence.

“This is my friend Professor Gridley, Mrs. Ketchum, whom I have the honor of introducing to you,—­a very distinguished scholar, as I have no doubt you are well aware.  And this is my friend Mr. Gifted Hopkins, a young poet of distinction, whose fame will reach you by and by, if it has not come to your ears already.”

The two gentlemen went through the usual forms, the poet a little crushed by the Presence, but doing his best.  While the lady was making polite speeches to them, Myrtle Hazard came forward.  She was greatly delighted to meet her old friend, and even looked upon the young poet with a degree of pleasure she would hardly have expected to receive from his company.  They both brought with them so many reminiscences of familiar scenes and events, that it was like going back for the moment to Oxbow Village.  But Myrtle did not belong to herself that evening, and had no opportunity to enter into conversation just then with either of them.  There was to be dancing by and by, and the younger people were getting impatient that it should begin.  At last the music sounded the well-known summons, and the floors began to ring to the tread of the dancers.  As usual on such occasions there were a large number of noncombatants, who stood as spectators around those who were engaged in the campaign of the evening.  Mr. Byles Gridley looked on gravely, thinking of the minuets and the gavots of his younger days.  Mr. Gifted Hopkins, who had never acquired the desirable