“It is a winsome, fantastic, enchanting little being!” remarked Mr. Chilton, in soliloquy at his dressing-table, the next evening. “I hope she will enjoy the gathering to-night, as she hopes to do. Will she miss me at the next she attends?” Then--laughing at the sentimental visage portrayed upon the mirror--“It would be the acme of ludicrous folly for me to disturb myself on that score. We have had a pleasant time together--she and I--and tomorrow it will be over. There is the whole story--except that, in a month I shall cease to think of her, unless her name is accidentally uttered in my hearing--I wish I could forget some other things as easily!--and she will probably be the affianced darling of one of the lumbering Honorables--the elder and homelier of the brace, I fancy, since he is the wealthier, and the humming-bird should have a fitting cage.” Expressing in his composed lineaments and firm stride nothing like disconsolateness at the programme, he flung his cloak over his arm, took his white gloves in his hand, cast a passing glance at the glass to see that his whiskers and hair were in order, and ran down the two flights of stairs lying between Bachelor's Hall and the Masons' private parlor. “Come in!” said a plaintive voice, in answer to his knock. Rosa was alone in the cosy apartment. She was curled up in a great padded chair, set upon the hearth-rug. Her dress was a plain black silk; she wore a scarlet shawl, and her head-gear was some odd, but distractingly pretty construction of white lace, a square folded in two unequal triangles, and knotted loosely, handkerchief-wise, the points in front, under her chin. “Not ready!” exclaimed Frederic, in merry reproach. “You, the model of punctual women!” “I am not going!” sighed the humming-bird, dolorously. “I have had a horrid sore throat all day--and--a--headache--and Aunt Mary got frightened, and forbade me to put my head out of doors.” “That is a heart-rending affliction! And could you not send the incomparable dress as your representative?” “Don't laugh!” she said, jerking away her head. “I cannot bear it to-night--not that I care the millionth part of a fig for all the parties in christendom; and as for the dress, you think that I haven't a soul above such frippery and gewgaws: but I wish I had never seen it. I shall never wear it as long as I live!” And out came the laced cambric to absorb the gathering dew. “There is something in this I do not understand,” said Frederic, setting a chair for himself close to hers. “Are you really suffering? I imagined that yours was a case of simple cold, and that Mrs. Mason advised you to remain indoors chiefly on account of the weather. It is raining hard!”