This was the day of the ball. Mrs. Archer’s head was full if her own and Marion’s toilettes. In justice to her it must be said her young cousin’s appearance interested her quite a much as, if not more than, her own. The result in both eases, was eminently satisfactory. Cissy, always pretty, showed to advantage in a ball-dress; and Marion was at the age when a girl must be plain indeed, not to look bright and sweet in a robe of floating, cloudy white, here and there dotted with rosebuds of as delicate a tint as the unaccustomed flush on the wearer’s cheeks. Marion was far from plain. “Bright and sweet” would but ill have expressed what Ralph Severn thought of her, as almost immediately on his arrival in the room he caught sight of her, not dancing, but sitting quietly beside old Mrs. Berwick, Cissy not far off. Ralph had come as a duty, because his mother had desired it. He had been present at the previous ball for the same reason, and had spent a most disagreeable evening. He hated dancing, or fancied he did (for he danced well, and judges in such matters say that no one who hates this “amusement” can ever be a proficient therein). However this may have been, he certainly did most devoutly hate dancing with Miss Vyse, which, to his dismay, he found himself expected to do, to a considerable extent. So, his previous experience having been the reverse of reassuring, he, with fear and trembling, for the second time prepared to obey the maternal commands. He entered the room hating himself and everybody else. In plain English, not in the sweetest of tempers. But one glance in a certain direction, one glimpse of a white dress and blush rosebuds, one moment’s view of a graceful little head, round which the bright brown hair was wound in thick, smooth coils; and the whole scene was changed to him. And yet, but a few days before, he had calmly decided that this dream of his was but a dream, a passing fancy, that he could easily overcome, and, ere long, forget! A strange reaction came over him this evening. From being unusually gloomy and morose, he suddenly became, in the opposite extreme, high-spirited, and, as he could be, in rare excitement, brilliantly lively and amusing. He delighted and amazed Florence by dancing with her twice in succession, waltzing, as she told him, “exquisitely.” This duty over, and having seen his fair charm! engaged to the end of her card, he found himself free to saunter up the room. Yes, there she was, still sitting. She had not danced yet, then. How could that be? A friendly greeting from Mrs. Archer, a few words of commonplace small talk, and he turned to Marion. “Have you not been dancing, Miss Freer?” “Not yet,” she answered, smiling; “l am engaged for two or three dances further on, but you know I have not a great many acquaintances here.”