Emmeline counted the days to her next party, as a school-girl does those to her first ball; for, on its success she again built flattering expectations for the future—expectations which perhaps to herself were hardly to be defined. “But at all events, I shall certainly see him,” she thought, as with most excuseable care and anxiety she endeavoured to improve, to the best advantage, those personal attractions which nature had bestowed upon her. But in vain she decked her hair with the freshest flowers; in vain she listened for, and anxiously watched the result of, each loud knock at her door. Every one she had asked, flew to her invitation, (such is the power of novelty in London,) all but _him_ for whom the whole had been prepared. Disheartened and dispirited, poor Emmeline almost resolved on seeking some pretext for putting off altogether her third entertainment; but a good humoured word of recognition from her husband, as they met in the lobby of the opera-house, the Tuesday before, again made her yield to the natural buoyancy of her disposition; and Fitzhenry, having asked Pelham and the Savilles to dine with him on the day appointed for her party, his presence seemed thus secured. All now, therefore, appeared propitious to Emmeline. Fitzhenry himself was, on that day, evidently more disposed for cheerfulness than he had been of late; and the smallness of their party at dinner, obliging them to more intercourse than they had had for long, Emmeline gave way to the exhilaration of spirits belonging to youth and hope, and, her cheeks again bright with the flush of enjoyment, she bore her part in the conversation with unusual liveliness. Emmeline was aware of this herself, and could not, moreover, help indulging in the flattering idea, that even Fitzhenry had (at least for that once) thought her agreeable. With a step made still more light than usual by the innocent exultation of the moment, she gaily bounded up to the drawing-room with Lady Saville, to make the necessary preparations for the expected company. Knowing how much Fitzhenry liked music, she had collected all the best Italian singers; and, with her companion, Emmeline was still occupied in arranging the lights and instruments, when Pelham and Sir George Saville joined them, but not Fitzhenry. Coffee came; still he did not appear. Half fearful of what she might learn, but not able to bear the suspense any longer, she at length, with an anxious look, enquired whether he was gone out. “Oh no!” replied Pelham; “he is only answering a letter which he has just received; he will be here directly.”