I hastily ascended the stairs, contemplating, as I flew along the hall, my chances of interrupting a tête-a-tête. I felt indignant that Sidney Sanderson should abuse so soon my confidence. I realized that Mariposilla already had been missed by her rival, and the thought that the inexperienced child would doubtless be criticised, and perhaps maligned, was decidedly irritating. Slackening my pace as I approached the vicinity of Mrs. Sanderson's parlor, I perceived the door ajar. A second more and I comprehended the absurdity of my vigilant endeavors. My conscientious plans and sentimental reservations, thus far, were not proving superior to the wiles of Cupid. I winced cruelly when I remembered the confident schemes for Mariposilla's gradual translation into the bosom of the conventional world. In the center of the room, her profile outlined by acute emotion, stood the Spanish girl. Bending beside her, Sidney was evincing an ardency entirely paradoxical, when I considered his indifferent temperament. Mariposilla held in her hands, which trembled, the silver shrine, containing the pictures of the beautiful girl. "You love her not?" she repeated in an ecstasy of doubt; her voice gradually rising in joy at the sweet denial she had forced from the lips of her lover. Her head was still in profile, but the long lashes, that had lifted to disclose her rapture, now dropped like a sable fringe upon her precious secret, while she listened in silent contentment to the deep undertone assurances of the man by her side. I could endure the restraint no longer. Tapping deceitfully upon the door, I began at once an animated search for my fan, inwardly disgusted with my cowardice, furious over my imbecile failure as a chaperone. CHAPTER XV. Mariposilla was the belle of the cotillion. Seated between Sidney and Ethel Walton, she knew no embarrassment. When dancing, she was absolutely free from self-consciousness. I assisted Mrs. Sanderson at the favor tables, where I had every opportunity of observing the girl's behavior. She was constantly called out, and to my delight accepted her popularity with gracious modesty. Often, when she came for a favor, Mrs. Sanderson delayed her to whisper a compliment, or else to lavish upon her a marked caress. From first to last, the happy child was noticeably bedecked with trophies of success. In her hair a number of gauzy butterflies of different hues fluttered as she danced, encouraging the fancy that she was truly related to the gorgeous little creatures after which she had been named. By the side of the Spanish child the other girls appeared artificial. Their respective claims to beauty seemed easily determined, the limit of their fascinations soon estimated. "I never felt so blasé in my life before," Ethel Walton whispered, as I handed her a favor. Later, when there was an intermission in the cotillion, she crossed the room and sat by my side.