At the moment of his arrival, a party was rehearsing the tableau which were to be presented in the evening at a splendid entertainment, given in honor of Miss Selwyn’s _debut_ in the world of fashion. The most important one;—the one in which the beauty was to burst on the enraptured eyes of her father’s guests in all her loveliness, was the lady and the page—and—oh, dire disappointment! The young cousin who was to enact the page, had been seized with an inflammatory sore throat, and his medical attendant positively prohibited his leaving his room. What was to be done? Mrs. Selwyn glanced over the list of her young acquaintances, and could not find one to appear in the tableau with her fair daughter, who would not look coarse when placed in comparison with her refined loveliness. She wished the tableau to be perfect—to be talked of as the most beautiful one of the season, and, in the midst of her perplexity, when her husband ushered in the son of his friend, one glance at his graceful person and fine features convinced her that she need look no farther,—the page was found. Her daughter was sent for, and after an animated conversation of half-an-hour, the lady found means to introduce her request so naturally and gracefully, that after a moment’s hesitation, with a glance at Julia and a bright flush of the cheek which spoke volumes, Mervin consented to play the part of the page. How would that worldly mother have shrunk from allowing him admittance within the charmed circle of her daughter’s fascination could she have divined the effect this casual introduction was to have on that daughter’s future life. The son of a farmer of moderate means who was encumbered with a large family, it appeared too absurd to guard against Mervin’s admiration. Julia was born to be admired: she had been educated to glitter in the sphere of fashion, and understood her own position too well to allow her feelings to become interested in a mere flirtation with an obscure artist. The young painter was full of genius and enthusiasm; the walls of his studio were ornamented with sybils, angels, and Madonnas, in each of which might be recognized a striking resemblance to the face of his young love, and his passionate soul poured forth his adoration in “thoughts that breathe and words that burn.” The homage of genius gave an eclat to her daughter which gratified the vanity of Mrs. Selwyn, who fancied that she had sufficiently warned Julia against allowing her heart to become interested, by speaking of the utter impossibility that Mervin should for years be in a situation to ask her to share his destiny. “All this adulation is very pleasant my love,” said she, “and makes you the envy of many a fair rival, but remember it is only as incense to your vanity that it must be regarded. Mr. Mervin is clever, and has talent enough to make a very agreeable addition to our _soirees_, but a suitor to you it is quite impossible he should aspire to become.”