“Why, good evening, Miss Dodge,” he exclaimed, with commendable presence of mind, seeing the heart under his waistcoat had executed an uncomfortable _pas seul_ at sight of her. He held out his hand with every appearance of cordial welcome, and after an instant’s hesitation Fanny laid her gloved fingers in it. She had meant to avoid his direct gaze, but somehow his glance had caught and held her own. What were his eyes saying to her? She blushed and trembled under the soft dark fire of them. In that instant she appeared so wholly adorable, so temptingly sweet that the young man felt his prudent resolves slipping away from him one by one. Had they been alone—... But, no; Ellen Dix, her piquant, provokingly pretty face tip-tilted with ardent curiosity, was just behind. In another moment he was saying, in the easy, pleasant way everybody liked, that he was glad to see Ellen; and how was Mrs. Dix, this evening? And why wasn’t she there? Ellen replied demurely that it had been given out on Sunday as a young people’s social; so her mother thought she wasn’t included. They entered the crowded room, where Deacon Whittle was presently heard declaring that he felt just as young as anybody, so he “picked up mother and came right along with Joe.” And Mrs. Daggett, whose placid face had lighted with pleasure at sight of Fanny and Ellen, proclaimed that when the day came for _her_ to stay at home from a young folks’ social she hoped they’d bury her, right off. So the instant—psychological or otherwise—passed. But Fanny Dodge’s heavy heart was beating hopefully once more. “If I could only see him alone,” she was thinking. “He would explain everything.” Her thoughts flew onward to the moment when she would come down stairs once more, cloaked for departure. Perhaps Wesley—she ventured to call him Wesley in her joyously confused thoughts—perhaps Wesley would walk home with her as on other occasions not long past. Jim, she reflected, could go with Ellen. Then all at once she came upon Lydia Orr, in her simple white dress, made with an elegant simplicity which convicted every girl in the room of dowdiness. She was talking with Judge Fulsom, who was slowly consuming a huge saucer of ice-cream, with every appearance of enjoyment. “As I understand it, my dear young lady, you wish to employ Brookville talent exclusively in repairing your house,” Fanny heard him saying, between smacking mouthfuls. And Lydia Orr replied, “Yes, if you please, I do want everything to be done here. There are people who can, aren’t there?”