Hertford was accorded a cordial welcome by his old friends, and the first thing he found himself called upon to do was to attend a large ball. He felt disinclined for it, but the possibility of seeing the lovely face that haunted every sleeping and waking minute made him consent. One of his former circle of friends insisted on taking him, and as they drove through the streets, he confided to Hertford the fact that he was in love, and that he expected to see at this ball the object of his affection, who, it appeared, was a rich and charming widow. The former of these attributes was intimated very delicately, but the whole thing seemed to Hertford, in his present romantic state of mind, revoltingly vulgar. How impossible it would be to confide to his companion the feeling that possessed his heart! Any allusion to the money struck him as being unpardonable--and he simply could not understand a man’s finding it possible to be in love with a widow. He thought of the lovely maiden on whom his heart was fixed, and the mere memory of her fresh young beauty made his pulses quicken. But he forced himself to appear interested, and wished his companion all success and happiness. “The success would certainly secure the happiness,” was the answer, “but the trouble is there are a dozen fellows, besides me, trying to marry her, and she declares she will marry no one.” As they got out of the carriage Hertford dismissed the subject from his mind. He had not yet got himself up to the point of making definite inquiries about the lady of his love, and it seemed to him now impossible even to make a confidant of a man whose nature could permit him to talk about being in love with a rich widow! As the two men walked about the rooms together, each was conscious of being on the watch, but Hertford, for his part, gave no sign. He met a few old acquaintances who remembered him still, but the place was very barren and irksome to him, in spite of its magnificent display, when suddenly his companion gave his arm a jerk and said: “There she is!” But Hertford, too, had caught sight of something that made his heart thump suffocatingly. A few paces from him was a tall, imposing, angular figure with a familiar Roman profile, and at her side was the adorable being he had so worshippingly enshrined in his heart, looking so beautiful in her white ball-dress that his eyes were dazzled with the delight of this vision. Again, as her eyes met his, he felt that their spirits had touched. Out of the delicious confusion caused by that glance, he was roused by the consciousness that he was being formally introduced. “My friend Mr. Hertford, Miss Shelton--and Mrs. Etheridge.”