Frank was out of his element, and thoroughly uncomfortable. Generally speaking, he could adapt himself to any society into which he happened to be thrown, but to-night he was restless and out of spirits; dissatisfied with Blanche, with himself for being so, and with the world in general. “What a parcel of fools these people are,” thought he, as with folded arms he leant against the wall and gazed vacantly on the shifting throng; “jigging away to bad music in a hot room, and calling it pleasure. What a waste of time, and energy, and everything. Now, there’s little Blanche Kettering. I _did_ think that girl was superior to the common run of women. I fancied she had a heart, and a mind, and ‘brains,’ and was above all the petty vanities of flirting, and fiddling, and dressing, which a posse of idiots dignify with the name of society. But no; they are all alike, giddy, vain, and frivolous. There she is, dancing away with as light a heart as if ‘Cousin Charlie’ were not under orders for the Cape, and to start to-morrow morning. She don’t care--not she! I wonder if she _will_ marry him, should he ever come back. I have never liked to ask him, but everybody seems to say it’s a settled thing. How changed she must be since we used to go out in the boat at St. Swithin’s; and yet how little altered she is in features from the child I was so fond of. It’s disappointing!” And Frank ground his teeth with subdued ferocity. “It’s disgusting! She’s not half good enough for Charlie. I’ll never believe in one of them again!” Well, if not “half good enough for Charlie,” we mistake much whether, even at the very moment of condemnation, our philosopher did not consider her quite “good enough for Frank”; and could he but have known the young girl’s thoughts while he judged her so harshly, he would have been much more in charity with the world in general, and looked upon the rational amusement of dancing in a light more becoming a sensible man--which, to do him justice, he generally was.