"It isn't fair to the flowers," said he. "Flowers have rights, you know, and to be outdone in sweetness---- Ah, Jim! Go away, and don't bother me! Don't you see I'm very busy?" "Old man," said Alvord, answering to the name of "Jim," "it's good to see you as you are to-night--your old self. You'll make a hit, my boy. This will make it more than ever a cinch!" Self-possessed, masterful, Mr. Brassfield moved through the assembly like a conqueror. Those who, a short time ago, found him dull and moody, rejoiced now in his confident persiflage pitched safely in the restful key of mediocrity, but possessed withal of a species of brilliancy, like the skilful playing of scales. Elizabeth noted the return of that dash and abandon which she had lately so missed--but for the first time the Brassfield music had a hollow ring in her ears. The subtler melody of last night--after all, it was best! Madame le Claire, immensely popular, gave readings in palmistry. Miss Smith was to have a husband with dark eyes. Mr. Brassfield offered to cross her palm with any gold coin she might name, if she would promise him a sweetheart with party-colored eyes, who would meet him for a long talk next day. Madame le Claire blushed and dropped the hand. Mr. Brassfield adroitly overtook Miss Scarlett, who seemed endeavoring to retreat. He stood by her, chatting lightly, using two voices, a distinct and conversational tone, and one so low as to be for her ear alone. "Oh, isn't it a crush?" said he. "(_Daise, what's the matter?_) A perfect evening, though. (_Are you running away from me?_) And such delightful people! (_The east room in ten minutes; is it yes?_)" Miss Scarlett nodded, and Brassfield moved on. Mrs. Pumphrey, Mrs. Hunter and Elizabeth Waldron were sipping punch. "May I have some?" said he. "And, please, Mrs. Pumphrey, may I be presented to the guest of the evening?" Mrs. Hunter received the introduction with a gasp. "Is it possible," said she, "that you don't know me? Can the possessor of that voice and face be any one but Florian Amidon?" "Amidon, Amidon?" he repeated. "Pardon me, but some one else spoke that name to me lately, and I was trying to recall the circumstances. It is in every way on my part to be regretted, as the fact has deprived me of the happiness of knowing you, that I am not Mr. Amidon. Am I so like him?" "Oh, it isn't a matter of resemblance, but of identity!" replied Mrs. Hunter. "Were you never in Hazelhurst, Wisconsin?" "Never," said Mr. Brassfield; "but I am beginning to see its beauties as a place of residence. And I hope to know more of this other Dromio before the evening is past." Mrs. Hunter bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, and Mr. Brassfield took himself gracefully from their presence. In the fashion of one pressed for time, he moved on.