"They have come!" said Ida, with a pitying accent, she could not repress, as Josephine turned deadly pale at the sound of wheels. "We _must_ meet them," and she took her hand. Hers was fiercely thrown off. Repellant, defiant, she disdained support. The bride's brother and bridemaids had accompanied her; but Ida scarcely remarked their muffled-up figures, as "Miss Murray--" "Miss Arnold"--were named. Her eyes and thoughts were for the new Mrs. Read. Josephine's aversion had hood-winked her. Ida subscribed to her "cool and bold," as the solitary clause of the description that had the slightest resemblance to the reality; and "bold" was too coarse an epithet for the polished indifference of a woman of the world. She was not more than three-and-twenty, handsome, even in her travelling apparel--not "baby-faced"--and went through the introductions with a nonchalant grace; touching Josephine's cheek with her lips; extending to Ida, the tips of her fingers,--and bestowing a fashionable nod upon the group of servants in the hall; then, escorted by her husband, led the way, up-stairs. Josephine's face was balefully dark, as she resumed her walk. It was a part of her retribution, although she would not see it,--that as she had slighted, and thrust aside others, whose rights were equal with hers,--she was to take a secondary place where she had ruled so long. The company were assembled, before the happy pair made their entry. Charley was with Ida--he was seldom far off--"November and June!" exclaimed he, aside. "Its enough to cause a man to forswear your sex, to see such a being a voluntary victim upon the altar of mammon." Ida caught his arm; and seeing that she was fainting, he seized a bottle of cologne-water from the mantel, and dashed a handful into her face, so quickly and dexterously, that his nearest neighbors did not understand the movement. The powerful perfume recalled her scattering senses. Charley put her in the corner of a sofa; and placed himself in front of her, to screen her from observation, until her agitation should subside. It was quickly over; and only remarking--"You cannot get through the crowd just yet--sit still!" he continued fanning her, and chatting, as if her illness were the most natural thing imaginable,--a matter of no moment. His eyes were as busy as his tongue; and in their apparently aimless rovings, no group escaped scrutiny. He was fairly at fault; and opposed as the conclusion was to the premises he had assumed, was compelled to refer her attack to physical causes. Once, he fancied he saw an imploring agony in her eye, which entreated for help or comfort; but while he looked, it disappeared, leaving a serenity that rebuked his suspicions. "Who is this Mr. Read is convoying this way?" he inquired. "I ought to know him." "He is a stranger to me," replied Ida. "Miss Ross, Mr. Copeland fears you will not recognise him, without a second introduction," said the host.