Margaret felt deeply disturbed. It was something very new to her to see this phase in her cousin’s relationship toward her, and the very fact that she felt in her heart no response to these signs of tenderness, distressed her. She knew the time must come when she would have to deny and thwart him, and the idea gave her pain. If she had hitherto doubted that he really loved her, she doubted it no longer. That look of his, as he lifted her hand to kiss it, made doubt impossible. It was no cool, cousinly affection; it was a passionate emotion that looked out from his eyes. She felt relieved when the carriage stopped at General Gaston’s door, and Alan, after handing her out, took leave, to be driven to his hotel to dine and dress. The remembrance of that look of his would not be shaken off, however, and she appeared before Mrs. Gaston in a somewhat pensive mood. Cousin Eugenia was delighted to see her, and declared she had missed her unendurably. She informed her, hurriedly, that they were all well, and that Louis was in New York, having been there ever since the day after her own departure for Baltimore; and then they fell to discussing Margaret’s costume for the party. “My white silk is all ready,” said Margaret, somewhat listlessly. “I have not worn it yet, you know. It is high, and perhaps better suited to a dinner, but I like it, and suppose it will do.” “That splendid old lace would make it elegant enough for any occasion,” said Mrs. Gaston; “and as to the high neck, somehow that style suits you, in spite of the eminent presentability of your neck and arms. But go now to your room and take a good nap. Ring for a cup of tea when you get up. I want you to look very fresh to-night.”