And now over the tessellated floor fair and lovely forms are gliding—music pours its enchanting strains, and voices scarcely less sweet float on the perfumed air—jewels flash, feathers wave—there are smiles on the brow of beauty, soft speeches on the lips of manhood. But why, amid this joyous scene, is the brow of Mrs. Hazleton clouded? Admiration can find no higher aim than the charms of Julia; nor does her own ear drink in unwelcome the flatterer’s whisper—yet still the cloud is there. Would you know the reason? Herman Wallace makes not one of the festive throng. She is almost angry with Julia for being so carelessly happy—with Alice for her composure. Suddenly her eye brightens. Ah, the game’s in view! And in a few moments Mrs. Hazleton, now all smiles, presses on to the gay circle of which Wallace seems to be the attraction. She soon fastened upon him, and led him off triumphant to the spot where she had a moment before seen Julia—but Julia was gone, and Alice alone remained, quietly viewing the scene before her. Mrs. Hazleton, however, took not the slightest notice of her, but continued a ceaseless strain in the ears of Wallace. Did not Mr. Wallace like waltzing? Mr. Wallace did not. The polka? Decidedly not. Was Mr. Wallace fond of music? Not in a crowded room. Mr. Wallace now turned his eye upon Alice. Could Mrs. Hazleton tell him who that interesting looking girl was? “O, a niece of my husband’s—poor child! You know, my dear sir, every family cannot look back upon a pedigree like yours—like mine, I was going to say—a very good sort of girl, though, but poor, and all that sort of thing.” Yet the descendant of a “noble pedigree” asked for an introduction to that “good sort of a girl,” which, with a very ill grace, was granted. Julia now joined them, and a lively conversation ensued, which Mrs. Hazleton with great chagrin saw interrupted. The fair hand of Julia was claimed for a dance, and away she tripped. Mrs. Hazleton, too, soon followed, to bring her back the earliest moment, leaving Alice and Wallace alone. There was a pause of a few moments, when, with some embarrassment, Wallace said, “The interest I feel, Miss Churchill, in a very dear friend, must be my apology for what I am about to say. He is a noble, generous fellow, but I fear has recklessly given his affections where they are but too lightly prized. You look surprised, Miss Churchill—I allude to Francis Reeve. I think you can be no stranger to the relationship existing between him and Miss Ketchim.” “I have frequently heard Julia speak of her cousin, Mr. Reeve,” replied Alice. “And no more! Has she never told you they stand in a far nearer light than mere cousins?” “I will be candid with you, Mr. Wallace. Julia has confessed to me her affection for your friend.” “Her affection! Then you think she does love him?” “Most sincerely.” “Is it possible! And has she a heart—she who seems to be the mere sport and puppet of fashion!” exclaimed Wallace.