“He wasn’t talking to you, or to me either, for that matter; but I have ears that can hear an eye wink.  He said:  ’Thank God, this night of horror is over!’ Think of that!  After such a dance and such a spread, he calls the night horrible and thanks God that it is over.  I thought he was the very man to enjoy this kind of thing.”

“So did I.”

“And so did I.”

The five musicians exchanged looks, then huddled in a group at the gate.

“He has quarrelled with his sweetheart,” suggested one.

“I’m not surprised at that,” declared another.  “I never thought it would be a match.”

“Shame if it were!” muttered the ungainly youth who had spoken first.

As the subject of this comment was the son of the gentleman whose house they were just leaving, they necessarily spoke low; but their tones were rife with curiosity, and it was evident that the topic deeply interested them.  One of the five who had not previously spoken now put in a word: 

“I saw him when he first led out Miss Page to dance, and I saw him again when he stood up opposite her in the last quadrille, and I tell you, boys, there was a mighty deal of difference in the way he conducted himself toward her in the beginning of the evening and the last.  You wouldn’t have thought him the same man.  Reckless young fellows like him are not to be caught by dimples only.  They want cash.”

“Or family, at least; and she hasn’t either.  But what a pretty girl she is!  Many a fellow as rich as he and as well connected would be satisfied with her good looks alone.”

“Good looks!” High scorn was observable in this exclamation, which was made by the young man whom I have before characterised as ungainly.  “I refuse to acknowledge that she has any good looks.  On the contrary, I consider her plain.”

“Oh!  Oh!” burst in protest from more than one mouth.  “And why does she have every fellow in the room dangling after her, then?” asked the player on the flageolet.

“She hasn’t a regular feature.”

“What difference does that make when it isn’t her features you notice, but herself?”

“I don’t like her.”

A laugh followed this.

“That won’t trouble her, Sweetwater.  Sutherland does, if you don’t, and that’s much more to the point.  And he’ll marry her yet; he can’t help it.  Why, she’d witch the devil into leading her to the altar if she took a notion to have him for her bridegroom.”

“There would be consistency in that,” muttered the fellow just addressed.  “But Mr. Frederick—­”

“Hush!  There’s some one on the doorstep.  Why, it’s she!”

They all glanced back.  The graceful figure of a young girl dressed in white was to be seen leaning toward them from the open doorway.  Behind her shone a blaze of light—­the candles not having been yet extinguished in the hall—­and against this brilliant background her slight form, with all its bewitching outlines, stood out in plain relief.