Guy would have taken Maddy’s side then, whatever he might have thought, and he replied: “Not lack of brains, certainly. Education and circumstances have much to do with one’s views upon that subject. For my part, I like to see people consistent. Now, this old ignoramus, as you call him, lays great stress on _pomp_ and _vanities_, and when I asked him once what he meant by them, he mentioned _dancing_ in particular as one of the things which you church members promise to renounce;” and Guy bowed towards Maria, who, knowing that she was one of the church members referred to, winced perceptibly. “But this girl—this Maddy. There’s no reason why she should decline,” she said; and Guy replied: “Respect for her grandfather, in her case, seems to be stronger than respect for a higher power in some other cases.” “It’s just as wicked to play for dancing as ’tis to dance,” Maria remarked, impatiently; while Guy rejoined: “That is very possible; but I presume Maddy has never seen it in that light, which makes a difference;” and the two retraced their steps to the rooms where the gay revelers were still tripping to Maddy’s music. After several ineffectual efforts Agnes had succeeded in enticing the doctor away from the piano, and thus there was no one near to see how at last the bright color began to fade from Maddy’s cheeks as the notes before her ran together, and the keys assumed the form of one huge key which she could not manage. There was a blur before her eyes, a buzzing in her ears, and just as the dancers were entering heart and soul into the merits of a popular polka, there was a sudden pause in the music, a crash among the keys, and a faint cry, which to those nearest to her sounded very much like “Mr. Guy,” as Maddy fell forward with her face upon the piano. It was hard telling which carried her from the room, the doctor or Guy, or which face of the three was the whitest. Guy’s was the most frightened, for the doctor knew she had only fainted, while Guy, struck with the marble rigidity of the face so recently flushed with excitement, said at first, “She’s dead!” while over him there flashed a feeling that life with Maddy dead would be desolate indeed. But Maddy was not dead, and Guy, when he went back to his guests, carried the news that she had recovered from her faint, which she kindly ascribed to the heat of the rooms, instead of fatigue from playing so long. The doctor was with her and she was doing as well as could be expected, he said, thinking within himself how he wished they would go home, and wondering what attraction there was there, now that Maddy’s place was vacant. Guy was a vastly miserable man by the time the last guest had bidden him good-night, and he had heard for the hundred-and-fiftieth time what a delightful evening it had been. Politeness required that he should look to the very last as pleasant and unconcerned as if up-stairs there were no little sick girl, all alone undoubtedly with Dr. Holbrook, whom he