The grand piano Amy played on was so placed as to command a view of the dancers, as they flitted past her. Robert Vavasour, although he said he cared not a rush for it, was flying along in a waltz with Mrs. Linchmore. Somehow Amy did not like seeing him so soon with her again, she felt sorry; and her eyes involuntarily sought Mr. Linchmore, but she had not far to look, he was close beside her; and placed a chair as she finished playing. "You must be tired, Miss Neville," he said kindly. "No; I am so accustomed to play, that I think the dancers would get tired before I should." "My wife never tires." "How beautiful she looks to-night!" said Amy. Mrs. Linchmore was always well dressed; this evening, perhaps, more simply than usual. A rich white silk dress, fitting her to perfection, with a few scarlet roses in her hair and bosom. "She grows more beautiful every day," replied he, sorrowfully. "Are you fond of gaiety, Miss Neville?" "Yes, I think so, or fancy I should be. I have seen little of it; but it must be so pleasant to thoroughly enjoy oneself." "I doubt if very many feel it to be thorough enjoyment; even balls and parties have their cares; but you would hardly think so to listen to the talking and merriment around." Anne, at this moment, played a galop, and again Robert Vavasour whirled past with his hostess. "Mr. Vavasour dances well," was all the remark Mr. Linchmore made. "You appear well acquainted with him, Miss Neville. Is he an old acquaintance?" "No. Oh, no!" replied Amy, hurriedly and confusedly. "He is a man who soon ingratiates himself with the fair sex. Of a proud, reserved nature, a word from his lips is of more weight with them than half the good deeds of a better man. He is a man who could humbug the wisest, and flirt with the silliest; and without the slightest intention of losing his own heart, or becoming entangled himself. He is not a marrying man; and for that simple reason every girl will try to win his heart; or will fall into the snare he sets, believing that she is the chosen one, and that his iron will and heart has succumbed to her; and be naturally proud of her supposed conquest, until she finds out her mistake, as most assuredly she will." "I have warned her," thought Mr. Linchmore, as he left her, nor stayed to see the effect of his words. While Amy inwardly murmured, "I shall never fall into the snare." CHAPTER VII. MISGIVINGS. "Coquets, leave off affected arts, Gay fowlers at a flock of hearts; Woodcocks to shun your snares have skill, You show so plain, you strive to kill. In love the heartless catch the game, And they scarce miss, who never aim." GREEN. How often it happens that in realising our fondest hopes, we experience not the happiness we expected.