It was, perhaps, three months after Mrs. Clayton moved into the neighborhood, that cards of invitation were sent to Mr. and Mrs. Marygold and daughter to pass a social evening at Mrs. Harwood’s.  Mrs. M. was of course delighted and felt doubly proud of her own importance.  Her daughter Melinda, of whom she was excessively vain, was an indolent, uninteresting girl, too dull to imbibe even a small portion of her mother’s self-estimation.  In company, she attracted but little attention, except what her father’s money and standing in society claimed for her.

On the evening appointed, the Marygolds repaired to the elegant residence of Mrs. Harwood and were ushered into a large and brilliant company, more than half of whom were strangers even to them.  Mrs. Lemmington was there, and Mrs. Florence, and many others with whom Mrs. Marygold was on terms of intimacy, besides several “distinguished strangers.”  Among those with whom Mrs. Marygold was unacquainted, were two young ladies who seemed to attract general attention.  They were not showy, chattering girls, such as in all companies attract a swarm of shallow-minded youug fellows about them.  On the contrary, there was something retiring, almost shrinking in their manner, that shunned rather than courted observation.  And yet, no one, who, attracted by their sweet, modest faces, found himself by their side that did not feel inclined to linger there.

“Who are those girls, Mrs. Lemmington?” asked Mrs. Marygold, meeting the lady she addressed in crossing the room.

“The two girls in the corner who are attracting so much attention?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you know them?”

“I certainly do not.”

“They are no common persons, I can assure you, Mrs. Marygold.”

“Of course, or they would not be found here.  But who are they?”

“Ah, Mrs. Lemmington! how are you?” said a lady, coming up at this moment, and interrupting the conversation.  “I have been looking for you this half hour.”  Then, passing her arm within that of the individual she had addressed, she drew her aside before she had a chance to answer Mrs. Marygold’s question.

In a few minutes after, a gentleman handed Melinda to the piano, and there was a brief pause as she struck the instrument, and commenced going through the unintelligible intricacies of a fashionable piece of music.  She could strike all the notes with scientific correctness and mechanical precision.  But there was no more expression in her performance than there is in that of a musical box.  After she had finished her task, she left the instrument with a few words of commendation extorted by a feeling of politeness.

“Will you not favor us with a song?” asked Mr. Harwood, going up to one of the young ladies to whom allusion has just been made.

“My sister sings, I do not,” was the modest reply, “but I will take pleasure in accompanying her.”