Moralists say, it is in every woman's power to be, in measure, all three: that when she is not liked or admired--by some few at least--it is a sign that she is neither likeable nor admirable. Therefore, I suppose I am neither. Probably very disagreeable. Penelope often says so, in her sharp, and Lisabel in her lazy way. Lis would apply the same expression to a gnat on her wrist, or a dagger pointed at her heart. A "thoroughly amiable woman!" Now I never was--never shall be--an amiable woman. To return to the ball--and really I would not mind returning to it and having it all over again, which is more than one can say of many hours in our lives, especially of those which roll on, rapidly as hours seem to roll, after five-and-twenty. It was exceedingly amusing. Large, well-lit rooms, filled with well-dressed people; we do not often make such a goodly show in our country entertainments; but then the Grantons know everybody, and invite everybody. Nobody could do that but dear old Mrs. Granton, and "my Colin," who, if he has not three pennyworth of brains, has the kindest heart and the heaviest purse in the whole neighbourhood. I am sure Mrs. Granton must have felt proud of her handsome suite of rooms, quite a perambulatory parterre, boasting all the hues of the rainbow, subdued by the proper complement of inevitable black. By and by, as the evening advanced, dot after dot of the adored scarlet made its appearance round the doors, and circulating gradually round the room, completed the coloring of the scene. They were most effective when viewed at a distance--these scarlet dots. Some of them were very young and very small: wore their short hair--regulation cut--exceedingly straight, and did not seem quite comfortable in their clothes. "Militia, of course," I overheard a lady observe, who apparently knew all about it. "None of our officers wear uniform when they can avoid it." But these young lads seemed uncommonly proud of theirs, and strutted and sidled about the door, very valorous and magnificent, until caught and dragged to their destiny--in the shape of some fair partner--when they immediately relapsed into shyness and awkwardness. Nay, I might add--stupidity; but were they not the hopeful defenders of their country, and did not their noble swords lie idle at this moment on that safest resting-place--Mrs. Granton's billiard-table? I watched the scene out of my corner, in a state of dreamy amusement; mingled with a vague curiosity as to how long I should be left to sit solitary there, and whether it would be very dull, if "with gazing fed"--including a trifle of supper--I thus had to spend the entire evening. Mrs. Granton came bustling up. "My dear girl--are you not dancing?"