moderated his gay _insouciance_, he continued his attentions. No place is better for a confidential confabulation than a crowded room, if the parties understand how to conduct it. The initiated would have surmised from an occasional gleam of the eye, and the varying expression of that most uncontrollable of features, the mouth, that something more important than sugared nothings was upon the tapis; but to the purblind merrymakers, as a body, Mrs. Read was examining a portfolio of prints, and her companion, a travelled gentleman, descanting upon "High Art" in "the States," as contrasted with the love for poetry, painting and music, which, it was said, prevailed in gay, pleasure-loving Havana. Ida was surprised that Mr. Ashlin requested a presentation to herself, and still more at the pertinacity with which he cultivated the acquaintance he must see she did not desire. He triumphed over her prejudice, inveterate as she had thought it. His air of deep interest--the admiration, too respectful to be conveyed in words, which spoke in every look and action, were dangerous flattery, and Ida was not invulnerable. But in reviewing the events of the evening, distrust obscured the pleasing recollection of his captivating address and the magic of his eloquence. Why was it bestowed upon her--a stranger, and so little attractive in her appearance? Why, especially, should he have asked permission to call? He knew Mrs. Read, and to her the application should, in etiquette, have been made. There was a vague apprehension hanging over her--a foreboding, for which she could assign no cause. He called, as he had promised, "at an early day." The family were collected in Mr. Read's room, when his card was brought to the lady of the house. "Mr. Ashlin," she read. "Whom did he ask for, John?" "The ladies, ma'am." "Very well. Josephine, I will thank you and Miss Ida to receive him, and excuse me." "Excuse _me_, if you please!" answered Josephine, bridling. "I scarcely know the gentleman, and do not covet the honour." "Miss Ida?" said Mrs. Read, inquiringly. "Why not go down with me, ma'am? Are you indisposed?" "You need not say so--I am engaged. I really wish it," she added, for Ida was undecided. "Then I will go," said she, with a sensation of infinite relief. Josephine followed her out. "Beware, my lady-like Tartuffe!" hissed she, sneering in baffled malignity. "You are mixing yourself up in a scrape which will not reflect much credit upon the elect." Her fiendish laugh was echoing after her, as Ida gained the parlor. Mr. Ashlin did not appear abashed or disappointed, upon receipt of the apologies. He bowed, with a civil regret, and seemed to forget that there were other ladies in the house or in the world, than the one he was entertaining. Ida's disagreeable oppression returned once, at his smile, when, in reply to his inquiry, she stated that the portrait in the niche opposite him, was Mr. Read's.