So, meeting the Mormon bishop, he demands his dance, and the music playing its most lively jig, Erma sees such high kicks, such double shuffles, and such gymnastic graces from Lot, who, being anxious to make a display before his partner, dances with the vigor of a Mormon boy of twenty, that she does her share of the lively contra-dance betwixt spasms of laughter. This display rather amuses Lawrence, who comes to her at the close and says, "You were right in choosing your partner, Miss Travenion. I yield the palm to him in cutting pigeon wings." Then he goes on sullenly, "There are two of the wives of my enemy Tranyon," and laughs a little unpleasantly, sneering, "I suppose he's got so large a family he has to obtain other men's goods to keep them all." "Oh, no doubt," whispers Ferdie. "I imagine from his possessions Tranyon must have a dozen or so. He has only been a Mormon eight or nine years, I hear. It must be awful curious to live a life of continual orange blossoms." Then he goes on. "The beauty of the Mormon part of this ball is that the married men are all eligible for matrimony. The girls need fear no one is not serious in his attentions. Every man goes!" "Stop making such jokes," cries Erma, sternly. Then she continues, "It's time to go home. Good-night, Captain Lawrence," and going into the dressing-room, she gazes meditatively at the two Mormon ladies, wondering what such a life as theirs can be. The dark one--the American--she notes is a woman of more decided character than the Swedish Christine, though neither seems to be over-well educated or intelligent. Then she thinks, "What a wretch that Tranyon must be! He is robbing Harry to put gewgaws upon these women!" for both are dressed much more expensively and in better taste than is usual with Mormon women, even the wives of their apostles and rulers. From this musing she is suddenly awakened by voices outside the dressing-room. Ollie is remarking, "As Miss Travenion's guardian, I must insist upon escorting her to her carriage." "Her guardian?" This is in Harry's tones. "Who made you such?" "Her father!" "WHAT?" "Certainly, her father," continues Oliver's soft voice. "He has constituted me her guardian until she becomes my wife--next winter." This easy falsehood makes Erma at first frightened, then angry, and a minute after, coming forth cloaked and hooded, she meets Mr. Livingston, Captain Lawrence having apparently gone away. "Mother is waiting," he whispers, and takes her down. But on the sidewalk outside she sees Harry standing despondently, and striding up to him, gives him words that make him happy once more. "To-morrow at two I wish to see you," she whispers, then laughs lightly, "Fairy stories for girls; men don't believe them!"