But Rosalie’s dress was in itself that night a thing of beauty. Green, as bright and dazzling a green as the frog’s coat, that fitted to her graceful figure as perfectly as the shining scales of a serpent’s coils, worked with tiny seed jewels and edgings of gold. “You look just like the mermaid,” said the frog, “your hair is so pale, and your eyes so bright, and your skin so fair, and your lips are as red as coral.” And Rosalie looked in the glass just as once before when comparing herself with Mariana, and laughed again just as then, and clasped her hands. Then, when she was ready, she went to Miss Crokerly’s room, who, on seeing her, uttered an exclamation of surprise. “What is the matter?” asked Rosalie. “I believe your frog is a beautifier. Take care no one steals it in the crush to-night. Or perhaps I ought to take the credit to myself. I think I shall. You have improved in appearance since coming here, Rosalie, and to-night you look quite radiant.” “Thank you,” and with a sudden touch of impulsiveness Rosalie kissed her. “You are so kind to me that the credit is yours.” When they reached the Sebberens’ the large party was assembling in the great drawing-room, which had been changed into a theatre for the occasion. Supper was to follow, but light refreshments were being handed round, and proved very useful to take the chill off the commencement, as it were. And music not too obtrusive helped digestion. Rosalie’s heart beat quicker as they entered the brilliantly-lit room, advance and retreat covered by Miss Crokerly and her brother, before and behind. Just inside the wide doors stood Mrs. Sebberen talking to a grey-haired man; Susiebelle was busy behind the curtain, so could not be in attendance upon the guests. She greeted Miss Crokerly effusively, stared, as is perfectly compatible with good manners, at Rosalie from head to foot, became effusive to her, and then bestowed the same greeting upon Sir John. There was no doubt about it, she was a happy and genial woman. She evidently considered them among her guests of honour or chief friendship, for in person she conducted them to a line of seats near to the front. She was dressed in rich black satin, and looked handsome enough to be imposing. On the way she talked much to Miss Crokerly, but looked much at Rosalie, her dress, her face, the curious little animal upon her shoulder. Beyond a certain interest, Rosalie read nothing in her glance. Then when they were seated, she passed away again, and Rosalie found time to look around. Everything and everybody were very brilliant. And she recognised some of her new acquaintances, but none more intimate. At last she whispered to Miss Crokerly—Sir John had left them for the moment: “Where is the Golden Priest Alphonso?” Miss Crokerly’s sharp eyes travelled round the assembly.