But human nature is human nature, and not a few of these fair creatures felt a conviction that Madeline and her pretty face were best at the piano--turned towards the wall--and that it was only fair to give others a chance, meaning their sweet, unsophisticated selves. They had a very distinct vision of the benefit that would accrue to them as a result of this economical arrangement on the part of the Harpers. “But what will Mr. Wynne do?” inquired Miss De Ville, with the corners of her mouth drawn down. She was a tall, pale, sandy-haired girl, with white lashes, and a scornful countenance. Madeline’s eyes flashed. She was on the point of answering, but the words were taken out of her mouth by Flo, who replied-- “He will dance with you instead, my dear.” “You know we are not allowed to talk about gentlemen,” put in a prim girl, with very prominent teeth and a painfully stiff white collar. “Bosh!” exclaimed Isabella. “I’ll talk of whom _I_ please, from the old gentleman upwards. I’ll talk of Mr. Wynne, Mr. Wolferton, Mr. Lancy, Mr. Sangster, Mr. Summers, Mr. Ferraby, Mr. Armstrong----” “_Young ladies!_” said an awful voice that made them all start, and fall away from the fender like a flock of frightened sheep. “What vulgarity is _this_? How often have I told you that I highly disapprove of such conversation! It will come to this, I see”--looking severely around--“you will have no half-hour after tea if you cannot be trusted. I am exceedingly displeased and shocked, especially”--seizing on her scapegoat--“with you, Madeline West. You are old enough to know better, and to have some influence; and to find you in the very middle of all this unladylike chatter, discussing gentlemen, is really too odious. A girl in your position might have a _little_ decency and self-respect. I am extremely disgusted with you. Now go; it is quite time the little Smiths were in bed. How is it that you have always to be _reminded_ of your duties?” she concluded venomously. Madeline opened her mouth to speak. “No answer; you know the rule. Now, young ladies, light the gas, and get to your work.” A great commotion and bustle ensued. Exit Madeline, trying vainly to keep back her tears, and with a burning sense of injustice in her breast. Indeed, for once, she forgot herself, and slammed the door--not violently, but still with a decided touch of temper. It was a foolish impulse, foolishly indulged. She was called back, and imperatively desired to “remember who she was, and to walk out of the room quietly, and close the door after her in a ladylike and becoming manner.” So even this slight safety-valve for her feelings was denied to her, and she left the apartment for a second time completely crushed. CHAPTER III. THE BREAKING-UP DANCE.