where it was cooler. There had been a cloud on Godfrey’s face the entire evening, and his eyes were constantly wandering over the moving throng in quest of one they did not see. “Where is Miss Westbrooke?” Tom Barton had asked him anxiously, but Godfrey could not tell him. She was intending to come with his father, he said, and possibly had not yet arrived; and as the festivity was nothing to Tom without Gertie, he sauntered away to an open window, and when Rosamond asked him to dance with a young lady who was a guest at the Ridge House, and who had been a wallflower all the evening, he answered, “Oh, bother! I can’t; it’s too hot. I’m melting now,” and stepped through the window upon the balcony to be out of the way. Neither he nor Godfrey cared to dance, though both had in their minds a graceful little figure which they would gladly have whirled about the room, and when at last she appeared and came upon Godfrey just as he had proposed going out upon the piazza with Alice, he forgot everything but his surprise and delight at seeing her, and exclaimed, joyfully: “Oh, Gertie, I’m so glad you have come. I’ve been waiting for you to dance with me. Come, they are just forming a new set.” He held both his arms toward her, and Gertie, unmindful of everything and seeing nothing but the look in Godfrey’s eyes and the arms held to her, went straight into them, thinking to herself, “For just this once,—I may be happy with him.” And she was happy, and Godfrey, too,—and people looked admiringly at the handsome pair, and strangers asked who the beautiful girl with the bright hair and simple dress was, and where she came from. I was at the party that night, and stood very near to Alice, when Gertie came in and was snatched up so quickly by Godfrey. I had heard him announce his intention not to dance, and ask Alice to go with him where it was cooler, and Alice had taken a step toward the door when Gertie came and changed the entire aspect of affairs. “Godfrey,” I heard Alice say, as her lover moved away from her, but Godfrey was deaf and blind to everything but the girl on his arm, and Alice called in vain. Godfrey had teased her for her red face, but it was pale enough now, and her small eyes had in them a greenish light as they followed Godfrey’s tall form and caught occasional glimpses of Gertie’s long, bright curls which came below her waist and were the wonder of the room. Alice was very indignant, and when the question was put to her, “Who is that beautiful girl dancing with Mr. Schuyler?” she stood on tiptoe, and pretending to be looking toward the dancers, answered with suppressed bitterness: “Oh, that is Gertie Westbrooke, a girl who lives with Mrs. Schuyler, and sees a little to Arthur,—a kind of nursery governess, I believe.” “Ah, yes, thank you,” and Mrs. Jamieson, from Philadelphia, put up her glass to look again at the girl “who lived with Mrs. Schuyler and was a kind of nursery governess.”