There was a splendid party at the hall on Tuesday. It reminded me of old times, when we, too,--but that is idle to remember. I do not sigh for the past. I know all is for the best. Still, I could not help thinking, as I looked on the brilliant spectacle, that the world was full of changes and vicissitudes. Well, the party was a gay and delightful one; the dancing quite extravagant. Annie was the beauty of the assemblage--the belle of the ball--and she gave me a new proof of the regret which she felt for the speech about my coat. At the end of a cotillon she refused the arms of half a dozen eager gallants to take mine, and promenade out on the portico. "Do you ever dance?" she said. "Oh, yes," I replied; "that is, I did dance once; but of late years I have been too much occupied. We live quietly." "You say 'we.'" "I mean my mother and I; I should have said 'poorly,' perhaps, instead of 'quietly,' And I am busy." She bowed her head kindly, and said, smiling: "But you are not busy to-night; and if you'll not think me forward, I will reverse the etiquette, and ask you to dance with me." "Indeed I will do so with very great pleasure." "Are you sure?" "Could you doubt it?" "I was so _very_ rude to you!" And she hung her head. That, then, was the secret of her choice of my arm. I could only assure her that I did not think her rude, and I hoped she would forget the whole incident. I was pleased in spite of all--for I like to think well of women. The cynical writers say they are all mean, and mercenary, and cowardly. Was Annie? She had left many finely-dressed gentlemen, faultlessly appointed, to dance with a poor stranger, quite out at elbows. I saw many cold looks directed at myself; and when Annie took my arm to go into supper, the gloom in the faces of some gentlemen who had been refused, made me smile. When the party was over, Annie gave me her hand at the foot of the staircase. I saw a triumphant light in her mischievous eyes, as she glanced at the departing gallants; her rosy cheeks dimpled, and she flitted up, humming a gay tune. It is singular how beautiful she is when she laughs--as when she sighs. Am I falling in love with her? I shall be guilty of no such folly. I think that my pride and self-respect will keep me rational. Pshaw! why did I dream of such nonsense! V. So--a month has passed. My coat, it seems, is to be the constant topic of attention.