Mrs. Dorothea, by another excellent contrivance, added much to the effect of her drawing-rooms, which, like those of most watering-place villas, were on the ground floor, and had French windows. The end one of these looked directly up one of the public walks, which the proprietors were in the habit of illuminating on occasion, and which was therefore provided with lamps. These Mrs. Dorothea had obtained permission to have lighted, so that the long vista from her open French window, looked very beautiful; particularly as some of the least prudent of the company thought fit, between the dancing, to step out and walk up and down. It happened to be one of the few very hot summers we are occasionally blessed with in this country. So that though it was now the middle of September, the weather was still very sultry, and it was only late at night that there was any thing like a refreshing coolness in the air. Lady Caroline Montague was still so unwell as to keep her room, so that neither her ladyship nor Lady Palliser were able to come out. This was a great disappointment to others besides Mrs. Dorothea; it was one, however, for which Willoughby was fully prepared; for though he had of course called every day to inquire for Lady Caroline, she had not been well enough to see even him. The ball was, nevertheless, going off with great spirit. Being a wedding party, in the first place, gave it _éclat_; and then Aunt Dorothea had insisted on its being opened by her favourite Madeline and that far-famed hereditary beau of her own, Mr. Cameron, whom she was so proud and so pleased to have handed down to her niece in such high preservation. Fate, however, had ordained that Mrs. Dorothea Arden's ball should be marked by more than one memorable event. Louisa, after dancing with Sir James, had also, as she generally did, danced with Henry Lindsey; who, instead of quitting England, had made his appearance at Mrs. Dorothea's with a flushed cheek, an angry eye, and a hurried, absent manner. When the quadrille had concluded, they were among the _imprudent_ couples who ventured to promenade the illuminated walk. Henry seemed to think the affair of last night forgiven or forgotten, for he began in his usual passionate strain to talk of the fervour of his own attachment, and reproach Louisa with comparative coldness. For the gratification of a culpable vanity, as well as from really feeling a secret preference for Henry, Louisa had so long listened to such language as this, and thus authorised him to believe himself beloved, that she now literally knew not how to pacify him; although she was far from having made up her mind to sacrifice, either to his feelings or her own, the title and brilliant establishment which still awaited her acceptance, if she could but bring herself to take the advice of her friends, and marry his brother.