"I only came here just a little while ago for a quiet minute to myself," she said, apologetically. "Ah! then, you like quiet and repose sometimes," he said; "I am glad of that, for I am not fond of gayety myself, at least not too much of it. I suppose I am getting too far into the sere and yellow leaf to enjoy it, eh, my dear?" "I hope not; sir," she said, making an effort to throw off her preoccupation and enter into the conversation with interest. After the splendid banquet had been served, he led her to a quiet seat and begged her not to dance again that evening. "I am too old to dance myself," he said, "but I am so selfish I want to keep you by my side that I may feast my eyes upon your peerless beauty. Can you be contented with my society, love?" he inquired, giving her a curious look. "I will do whatever pleases you best, sir," she said, with an inward shudder of disgust. "Very well; we will sit here hand in hand like a veritable Darby and Joan, and enjoy each other's company," he said, giving her an affectionate smile. The bride looked at her lord in surprise. She had not known him long, for their marriage had followed upon a brief acquaintance and hurried courtship. Xenie had never thought him very brilliant, and, indeed, she had heard people say maliciously that the old man was getting weak-minded, but after all, the proposition to hold her hand before all that brilliant array of wedding-guests nearly staggered her. She made some plausible excuse for keeping her hands in her own possession, and sat quietly by his side, watching the black coats of the men and the bright robes of the women as they fluttered through the joyous mazes of the dance. "Do you see the lovely girl dancing with my nephew, Howard Templeton?" he said, to her after a short silence. She looked up and saw Edith Wayland, one of her bridesmaids, whirling through the waltz in the arms of her deadly foe. "Yes," she said, with a kind of stifled gasp. "She's in love with my nephew," said the old man, with a low chuckle of pleasure. "Indeed? Did she tell you so?" asked Mrs. St. John, half scornfully. "Never mind how I found out. It's true, anyhow. And she is a great heiress, my dear, almost as rich as I am. I mean to make a match between her and my nephew." "Do you?" she asked, but her voice was very low and faint, and the room swam around her so that the dancers seemed mingled in inextricable mazes. "Yes, I do; but what is the matter with you, my darling?" he said, looking anxiously at her. "You have grown so pale!" "It is nothing--a headache from the heat of the rooms," she murmured, confusedly, "but go on. You were saying----"