"What have you done with Mr. Lacy?" queried one and another, and a ready untruth answered, "He had an engagement, which obliged him to go early." Charley overheard one repetition of this excuse; but although his eyes wandered, with a comical roll, towards the retreat of the recusant, he kept his own counsel. By supper-time, she was so convinced of the truth of her fabrication, that she neglected to institute a search which would have showed her Mr. Lacy and Ida, at the farthest end of the table. Twice again, she could have been blessed by a sight of him. Charley having invited Ida to a promenade in the hall, Mr. Lacy bethought him of his fair and partial hostess; but she was not to be found. She was lying upon the bed in her chamber, fretting over her "foolishness," and the "stupidity and worry" of all parties,--hers in particular. Smoothing her face and ringlets, she regained the parlor by one door, as Morton left it by another. He encountered Ida and Charley, and walked with them until the carriages came to the door. Josephine accompanied several of her most fashionable guests to the dressing-room; and Mr. Lacy, seeing there was no one to receive his conge, made none. The day after! Mr. Read was growling and headachy;--Josephine in her worst humor, and itching to vent it. The breakfast hour was enlivened by a continual peppering of small shot from her, varied by a big gun from her father. He sneered at her arrangements and company, saying much that was cuttingly true, more, really, than he was aware of; and she pecked at him and the servants. In spite of her dislike, Ida pitied her, as she surveyed the heaps of unwashed dishes and glasses; the carpets, spotted with wine,--cake and jelly trampled into their velvet; and the forlorn disorder that reigned over all. She was on the point of offering her assistance, when Josephine brushed by her, with a peremptory order to "folks who were cluttering up the room, to be off, if they did not mean to work!" Herself, the cat and the footman, who was collecting the remains of the feast, comprising the auditory, Ida thought herself justifiable in taking a share of the hint. She sent Rachel down in her place, enjoining upon her, as a prudential measure, not to speak, unless when asked a direct question. As to Ida, the close of her evening had more than compensated for the ennui of the beginning; she had no foiled stratagems, no tangled snares to lament; yet the dissipation produced a nervous languor, tempting, yet dissuading her from action. She read--and the letters danced cotillions and waltzes over the page. The piano was in the parlor--but so was Josephine. She essayed to sew, and stitched up a seam wrong side out, and ran the point of the needle under her finger nail. "I must walk--I have it! Mrs. Dana will like to hear about the party, and there is Elle's doll's hat."