Lucia looked grateful and penitent; then she took Phil’s arm, and whispered rapidly, “We’ll take a side: all you need do will be to watch the head couples carefully, and do exactly as they do, when our turn comes.” “But if I blunder----” “Then I’ll forgive you. What more can you ask?” “Nothing,” said Phil, his heart warming, and his face reflecting the smile that accompanied Lucia’s promise. The quadrille was really as easy as had been promised: indeed, Phil found it almost identical, except in lack of grace, with an alleged calisthenic exercise which a pious teacher had once introduced in Haynton’s school. The motion of swinging a partner back to position by an encircling arm puzzled him somewhat, as he contemplated it, but Lucia kindly came to his assistance, and ’twas done almost before he knew it,--done altogether too quickly, in fact. And although he honestly endeavored to analyze the wickedness of it, and to feel horrified and remorseful, his mind utterly refused to obey him. “There!” exclaimed Lucia, as the quadrille ended, and, leaning on Phil’s arm, she moved toward a seat. “You didn’t seem to find that difficult.” “Anything would be easy, with you for a teacher,” Phil replied. “Thanks,” said Lucia, with a pretty nod of her head. “And I’m ever so much obliged to Miss Dinon for urging me to try,” continued Phil. “Agnes Dinon is a dear old thing,” said Lucia, fanning herself vigorously. “Old?” echoed Phil. “A woman like Miss Dinon can never be old.” Lucia’s fan stopped suddenly; again the strange jealous look came into her face, and she said,-- “I should imagine you had been smitten by Miss Dinon.” “Nonsense!” Phil exclaimed, with a laugh. “Can’t a man state a simple fact in natural history without being misunderstood?” “Forgive me,” said Lucia, prettily. “I forgot that you were always interested in the deepest and most far-away side of everything. Here comes that stupid little Laybrough, who has my next waltz. I’m going to depend upon you to take me down to supper. By-by.” A minute later, and Phil sobered again, for again Lucia was floating about the room with a man’s arm around her waist. Phil took refuge in philosophy, and wondered whether force of habit was sufficient to explain why a lot of modest girls, as all in Miss Dinon’s parlors undoubtedly were, could appear entirely at ease during so immodest a diversion. During the waltz he leaned against a door-casing: evidently some one was occupying a similar position on the other side, in the hall, for Phil distinctly heard a low voice saying,-- “Wouldn’t it be great if our charming hostess were to set her cap for that young fellow from the country?” “Nonsense!” was the reply: “she’s too much the older to think of such a thing.” “Not a bit of it. She’ll outlive any young girl in the room. Besides, where money calls, youth is never slow in responding.” “They say he’s as good as engaged to Miss Tramlay,” said the first speaker.