Catharine was right as to the object, mistaken as to the cause of her friend’s meditation. Ada was thinking with genuine satisfaction of the very agreeable person whom she had just escaped hating; and though, like all generous minds, she liked him the better for her former injustice, her thoughts were neither of rapture nor of love; they wore the sober hue of justice; and if she was thinking of Mr. Stanley without prejudice, she was also thinking of him without enthusiasm, and she was unconscious of his gaze until Catharine called her attention to it. “Where’s your bouquet, Ada?” said Catharine, pointing to the carnations and geraniums that strewed the floor; and looking so intensely mischievous, that Ada, innocent though she was, felt guilty. “Really—I—it was so heavy,” stammered she, scarcely knowing what to say. “Indeed!” said Catharine, significantly; “then do let me ask Mr. Stanley to come and hold it for you; it is the least he can do after causing its destruction—shall I call him?” Ada followed the direction of Catharine’s eyes, and one glance at Mr. Stanley, gazing at her with an expression of intense admiration, explained what was passing in Catharine’s mind. Ada was not pleased with such public homage; moreover she had an aversion to what is commonly called “being teazed about a gentleman;” but this was no place to remonstrate with Catharine, and she resigned herself. “Oh, no!” said she, smiling, “he has probably some object in view. Perhaps he is practicing for a tableau vivant, designed to represent Lara, or the leaning tower of Pisa. I have no desire to interfere with so rational an amusement.” “In other words,” replied Catharine, intent upon tormenting, “I am politely requested to mind my business, and let Mr. Stanley look at Miss Somers as long as he pleases. Well, all I have to beg is, that you will keep out of my green-house whenever you indulge him in this ‘rational amusement,’ at least till you have read Picciola, and have learned the value of a flower.” “Picciola!” echoed Ada, looking surprised, but by no means confused, as Catharine had anticipated. “So, Kate, you have been playing Hephæstion to-night! What a waste of conscience for a parcel of ballroom nonsense!” “Oh, no! not Hephæstion,” exclaimed Catharine, “I am not so ambitious. I am a mere snapper up of inconsidered trifles.” “Well! considering the way in which you collect them,” said Ada, good-humoredly, “I think you might be more scrupulous as to the way you use them; and though you disclaim the resemblance, let me tell you that you are quite as much in need of a seal to your lips as Hephæstion himself.” At this moment appeared Ada’s partner with an iced peach, and many apologies for not bringing it sooner. He then offered to procure another for Mrs. Ingleby—and she, to rid herself of his presence, accepted the offer. “Upon my word, he is staring at you yet!” exclaimed she.