Mr. Lacy attended her home. Curiosity had set for him the study of her character. Her mien bespoke no ordinary soul; and the inuendoes of Josephine, meant to deter him from prosecuting it, stimulated his desire. They had been together repeatedly, previous to the party, but always in the company of the Extinguisher. Her arch glance and rejoinder to his thoughtless remark, while recalling Josephine's insinuation of her hoydenish propensities, nevertheless fascinated him. From being amused, he grew interested; he was working a mine of thought, and unless the clue was false, there was a substratum of feeling. The friendship of the Danas convinced him that the heart was warm and true. He saw the frank girl amidst the friends in the studio, and the accomplished woman in the coterie of the evening; and could not say which was most attractive. "So much intelligence and so little affectation are seldom seen in the same person;" he meditated. "She has the materials for a noble character." Did he think to mould it! CHAPTER XIII. Our youthful debutantes were plunged into the maelstrom of a fashionable season; a whirl which, in its outermost circles, was as gratifying to the feverish energy of Ida as to the vanity of her more grovelling-minded associate. The rapidly shortening days seemed longer instead, so uneventful and wearisome were they. Life commenced when the evening's thousand lamps were lit. The mingling perfumes; the crush and flutter; the wave-like roar of the assembly-room, were delicious excitement to the emancipated school-girl; and to the astonishment of those who had known her then, the reserved student bloomed into the dashing wit and belle; beauties and heiresses sitting, uncourted by, while "eligibles" contended for the honor of her preference. Her newness was a part of the secret. The spectacle of a wild Zingara, unreined, and glorying in the fullness of its freedom, scorning bit and spur, amongst a pack of jaded hackneys, who have been trotted and paced and galloped, year after year, until their factitious animation and oft-repeated gambols create pity and contempt, would cause a sensation akin to that awakened by her appearance. Her lightest words were jeux d'esprit; her laugh, a chime of silver wedding-bells; (things by the way, of which every body talks, but nobody we have questioned, ever heard,) her singing seraphic; her ballads lyric gems; herself a Corinne. Josephine was latest to perceive, first to resent this sudden accession of popularity. Rivalry from this source was as unexpected as unbearable. Her glass showed her a form, airy as a summer cloud; a set of features more delicate and regular than Ida's characteristic-physiognomy; and in dress, she certainly bore off the palm; her maid being invariably rung up an hour and a half before Rachel's services were demanded. She fought, as long as she could, with the conviction that this pre-eminence was as though it had not been to