Different with Vaga. She was an ardent worshipper of Terpsichore, and few equalled her in the accomplishment of dancing--scarce any excelling. She was up in every set; and, could she have multiplied herself to count a score, would have found a partner for every unit. A very host sought, with eagerness, to engage her. There was one who observed this with a secret vexation--Clarisse. Not that she was without her share of aspiring partners; she had them in numbers equalling those of her "country cousin." But even that did not satisfy her; craving universal incense she wanted all. Possibly, she would have cared less had the rival belle been any other than Vaga Powell. But already between the two had sprung up rivalry of a nature different from any competition as to who should shine brightest at a ball. In a word, they were both in love with Eustace Trevor, and each knew, or suspected it, of the other. On this night Clarisse had the advantage. Though her mother ostensibly gave the entertainment, she herself was the promoter of it--in a manner mistress of the ceremonies. As such, commanding the music, the arrangement of the dances, and, to a certain extent, who should dance with whom. Not much cared she, however, to exercise this control over other than Eustace Trevor, which she did so effectually, that the two danced together oftener than seemed consistent with ballroom etiquette, and far too frequently to escape observation. Remarks were made about it, and by the partisans of both sides. "That explains Madame Lalande's defection from our cause," said the Cavaliers. "We now know why this entertainment is being given," remarked the Parliamentarians; "clearly for Captain Eustace Trevor." And Vaga Powell! What thought she? How did she feel about it? As one at first perplexed, then sorely pained. She who, on the summit of Ruardean Hill, had talked so lightly of love--almost boasted of never having experienced the sentiment--was now within its toils and suffering its torments. And but little of its delights had she yet known--nothing beyond hopes and vague anticipations. For from the hour when Eustace Trevor plucked the ostrich feathers from his hat, replacing them by those of the egret, she and he had never another opportunity of taking up the thread of the dialogue her sister had so inopportunely interrupted. Several interviews between them since, but all under surveillance or constraint. This, however, had failed to change or weaken the sentiment with which he had inspired her; perhaps strengthened it. True to her profession of constancy, when she said--"If I ever had loved a man, I think I should love him still," she did love him still; on that night with a passion burning as it was bitter.