But what a change! Not now the sweet, modest rose of Belton, but an egregiously vain and affected coquette. So thought Mark, in whose unsophisticated eyes the transformation was complete and manifest. He watched her a few moments longer. One of her danglers was made supremely happy by being permitted to button her glove, while another enjoyed the bliss of holding her bouquet. Then a third, a tight-built little fellow, with closely-cropped hair accurately parted in the centre of his round head, a mustache of magnitude, and a crush hat in his hand, gallantly clasping her, led her off in the mazes of a waltz. It certainly was a graceful sight; but Mark saw, or fancied he saw, but another phase of affectation in Edna's posed features and downcast eyes, as she glided around in evident consciousness of the admiration she excited. With a pang of disappointment, Mark shrank away, fearing to be noticed by Edna. He had an undefined dread of being noticed by her there and then, and very soon after, had bidden adieu to Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel, and left the house. * * * * * What bitter emotions filled the heart, and what cynical thoughts the mind, of our impetuous hero that night, it would be difficult to describe. He imagined he had discovered the cause of Edna's neglect of him. She was utterly changed. Other thoughts occupied her mind, and other affections her heart, if she had either, which he was beginning in his bitterness to doubt. Should he make another attempt to see her? No, he would not. She was unworthy of further attention. He should return to his duties at once, and start for the front the very next morning. Such was his decision before he fell into a feverish, disturbed slumber towards dawn. But, as usual, the bright sunlight of morning proved a sedative, and Mark became disposed to be lenient. "Perhaps," thought he, "I have been unjust to her. She has been left an orphan to the care of fashionable people. Could she resist--could any young girl resist the influences of the artificial existence that such people lead? Truth is, I must confess, that I don't know anything about fashion or fashionable people or their ways and manners. I've no doubt that I'm all wrong, and that her heart is all right--that she is as good and kind and candid as ever. But when I think of the dear little artless darling who used to coast down the Academy hill at Belton with me, and laugh so ripplingly when she fell in a snow-bank, and that Pompadour-looking belle playing her eyes at the host of smirking fools around her, I feel as if I could--well, well, she's a warm-hearted girl for all that, and has always been my friend, and I'm a fool" (this was the invariable conclusion arrived at by the colonel in his self-examinations). "At any rate," he continued, "I have no right to judge her harshly. I shall call on her, and her welcome will doubtless efface the disagreeable impression I have received." XX.