But he could not know how rapidly an invisible hand was turning the pages of life, and that he was soon to read a strange story in that mystic book of fate, which Heaven so seldom deigns to open to mortal eyes. CHAPTER XXXVIII AT SARATOGA Madam Sylvester went to the White Mountains with her party, as she had planned to do, while Mr. Dalton, congratulating himself upon the success of his maneuver—the reason for which he supposed no one but himself knew anything about—was enjoying the brilliant society at Saratoga to the full. “I flatter myself that I have played my little game very nicely,” he said many times to himself, when thinking of their hasty flitting from Newport; and those soft white hands of his were rubbed together in the most approving manner, accompanied by a most approving chuckle. He insisted now that Editha was well enough to join in the gayeties of the place and accompany him to the different places of amusement and pleasure. She would have preferred the solitude of her own room or to be allowed to roam quietly by herself in the different parks during the morning, when there were few abroad; but he persisted, and, thinking it could not matter much what she did, she yielded for the sake of peace, although she did not really feel able to bear the excitement as yet. The result was highly gratifying to Mr. Dalton, for Editha at once became a star of no small magnitude. Her delicate, almost ethereal beauty instantly attracted a crowd of admirers. She was “new,” and after an entirely different pattern from most of the fashionable belles who frequented the place, which, together with the fact of her being an heiress, was considered sufficient cause for any amount of admiration and homage being paid her. And so she was whirled into the vortex of fashionable life. The days were turned into night, night into day, and all the quiet which she had so enjoyed at Newport into an endless round of excitement. One evening there was to be a garden-party—“the most brilliant affair of the season,” according to the flaming announcement. Editha did not want to go. “I am tired out now, papa, besides having no heart for anything of the kind,” she said, wearily, when Mr. Dalton began to talk of the details of her dress, about which he was very particular for a man. “Pshaw!” he returned, impatiently; “you have been moping yourself to death, and need waking up. This is to be the finest occasion of the season, I am told, and I shall take no pleasure in it unless I can have you with me.” It was not Editha that he particularly wanted for the sake of the pleasure he would take in her society, but a handsomely dressed lady by his side, to be admired, and to help him pass the time agreeably. Of course Editha yielded rather than to have any words about it, and gave her attention, with what interest she could command, to the wearisome business of preparation.