Nor could Rhoda keep her own gaze from dwelling on her companion. When the long cloak had been laid aside, and Helen appeared in the lighted room, her cousin could hardly restrain an exclamation. There were jewels on her wrists and bosom, jewels on the white fingers that flashed when she took off her gloves to display them. A miserable sense of shame and confusion overwhelmed Miss Farren. Here was Helen bedizened like a Begum, and here were many of the Huntsdean folk who knew her husband's story! The air seemed full of whispers. Rhoda grew hot beneath the broad stare of eyes. Yet few glanced at her; the brown wren, reluctantly perched beside the glittering peacock, was sheltered from observation. The musicians struck up a lively tune, and then Rhoda saw that there were several gay young officers in the room. They had come, by the squire's invitation, from the neighbouring garrison town, and were evidently prepared to enjoy themselves. She was scarcely surprised to see two or three of them bearing down upon Helen, bent on securing her for a partner. She heard their entreaties, and Helen's denials--very prettily uttered. But at that moment an old friend of Farmer Farren's crossed the room, and gave Rhoda a hearty greeting. Then followed a score of questions about herself and her parents, and in the midst of them Rhoda heard Helen's voice saying-- "Only one dance, Rhoda; you'll forgive me, I know." Rhoda started, and half rose from her seat. Such a distressed and angry look crossed her face that the old farmer was astonished. Helen had gone off on her partner's arm. It was too late to call her back. She must take it as quietly as she could, and avoid making a scene. "Who is that lovely young woman? Any relation of yours, Miss Farren?" asked the old man by her side. "My cousin," Rhoda answered. Several persons near were listening for her reply. Rhoda hoped that her questioner would drop the subject, but he did not. "Let me see; didn't I know her when she was a child in your father's house?" "Very likely," Rhoda said. "She used to live with us when she was a little girl." "And did I hear that she had married?" he persisted. "She is married," said Rhoda, desperately. "Her husband is in Australia." Obtuse as he was, the old gentleman could yet perceive that he had touched upon an awkward topic. Poor Rhoda was a bad actress. Her face always betrayed her feelings. She sat bolt upright against the wall, looking so intensely uncomfortable that her companion quitted her in dismay. There she remained for three long hours; sometimes catching a glimpse of the lilac silk among the dancers. From fragments of talk that went on around her, she learned that Helen was the centre of attention. And at last, when a galop was over, and the groups parted to left and right, she caught sight of her cousin surrounded by the officers.