“I have offered no objection,” Ernest replied in a sorrowful tone, “and yet,” he continued timidly, “might you not have accepted an escort with more congeniality than exists between you and that one?” “I don’t see the necessity of so much congeniality in a dancing companion,” she answered. “Besides, Mr. Comston is a nice, elegant gentleman, and is, by no means, dull.” The last remark was like gall to Ernest, and he felt strongly tempted to express his opinion about the moral character of his rival: but on second thought, he concluded that silence on that head would be prudent. He at once changed the subject of conversation, and nothing more was said about the dance. At the time appointed, Xerxes called to escort Clara to the ball. That evening he paid her very marked attention, and endeavored in every possible way, except the agency of the tongue, to convey to her the knowledge that she occupied a conspicuous place in his affections. Clara was at no loss to interpret his look and manners. She understood that earnest, inquiring gaze which seemed to be searching into the depths of her soul. It was not the bold, impudent stare of the accomplished libertine, but the skillful maneuvering of a man who knew how to express tender feelings silently, whether they had real existence or not. He gazed, it is true, but in such a way as to make the impression upon the young lady that it was the timid, stealthy act of a despairing lover. He acted as though he had unintentionally betrayed the state of his affections, and yet he was well aware that this betrayal had not escaped the observation of the young lady; for we sometimes seem to know that certain persons are looking at us, when we do not see them. If Xerxes had gazed boldly at Clara, she would have taken offence; but his appeared to be stolen glances, and she felt flattered. As they returned late from the ball-room, he said to her as soon as they were in the open air: “Well, how have you enjoyed the evening?” “Very much, indeed,” she said, “how has it been with yourself?” “I do not know why it was,” he answered, “but I never enjoyed an evening so much in my life. I wish we could have a dance every week, or even oftener.” “I say ‘Amen’ to that,” exclaimed Clara, “for this is an awful dull town.” “I find it so myself,” replied Xerxes. “There are so few young ladies here.” “So few?” answered Clara in surprise. “I thought there were a great many.” “Yes, but I mean congenial spirits. They make no impression upon me. The fault, however, may be mine. I may not know how to entertain them. I have not been accustomed to a great deal of female society.” “You dance beautifully, which made me conclude that you were a great lady’s man.” “I am at a loss to imagine upon what you could base such a conclusion.” “Is not dancing associated with ladies? You said you had enjoyed the evening. I was simple enough to think that it was the presence of ladies that caused the time to pass off so agreeably.”