"She wished so much to be here to-night! She has no parents and no family; she is absolutely alone in the world--or would be, but for me. Wait, old man; you shall know more of her, and you will be satisfied. It happened in this way. I was gasconading, I suppose--talking in heroics--flinging my words to the winds, and making a fool of myself generally. Then came up the subject of the ball. You know that the whole city has been ringing with it for a month past, and that a thousand women are in despair because they could not obtain an introduction. I dilated upon it, scornfully perhaps. A Prince was to be here--a Princess too. 'And you are as good,' said I to her, 'as any Princess in the kingdom.' 'I hope I am,' she answered softly--she has a voice of music, Fred--'I hope I am, but I could not gain admission to the ball.' I fired up. 'Do you wish to go?' 'Do I wish to go?' she echoed. 'To dance with a Prince, perhaps! Am I a woman?' A field of adventure was opened up to me. 'You shall go,' I said. 'Is that a promise?' she asked eagerly. 'It is a promise,' I replied. After that there was but one thing left for me to do--to fulfil my promise, at any risk, at any hazard. I _have_ fulfilled it, and I am content. It is like stolen fruit, old man--that is what she said to me. A very human creature, Fred, and a child at heart. And Grace is dancing with a Prince, and everybody is happy." "Child as she is," I remarked, "she must be possessed of great courage to venture thus into a den of lionesses." "You mistake her," said Sydney. "It is I who sustain her. She told me as much a few minutes since, and whispered that if I were not here she would run away. A certain kind of courage she must possess, however; liken it to the courage of a modest and beautiful wild flower which dares to hold up its head in the midst of its bolder and more showy sisters." I saw that he was in love with her, and I hinted it to him. He replied frankly, "If I do not love her, love itself is a delusion." I asked him who she was, and he replied, "A daughter of Eve, and therefore the equal of a queen." This was the substance of our conversation, which lasted for about half an hour, and at the end of it we entered the ballroom. During our absence a change had taken place in the aspect of affairs. I was not the only person who had seen the portrait of Sydney's sister, and who failed to recognise its living presentment in the lady he had introduced. Grace was dancing, and certain dowagers were watching her with suspicious eyes. Sydney observed this, and laughingly ascribed it to jealousy. "If Grace were an ugly woman," he said, "they would not be up in arms against her. Grace is no match for these experienced tacticians; I will soon change their frowns into smiles."