“Do look at that girl in white, just opposite. There, standing next the pillar. How she and that boy are enjoying themselves! They seem too intimate for you to call it a flirtation, and not sufficiently tender for an engaged couple. Who can they be? I have never seen them before.” Seeing her partner smile, she added: “Ah, I believe you know them!” “I do,” he calmly replied. “The boy, who would be extremely indignant if he heard you call him one, is Mr. Saville, of the Fifth Hussars; and the young lady with him is his cousin, and my wife.” “Your wife! you don’t say so? You are joking! Is that really Lady Fairfax? She looks so preposterously young, I could easily imagine this to be her first ball.” “Nevertheless, she has been married for more than three years.” “She is uncommonly pretty,” returned the young lady, gazing at her with all her eyes. “Several people have asked me who she was, but I did not know. She is quite the belle of the evening. Don’t you think so?” “I always agree with a lady, especially when it is a question of taste,” was his evasive answer. “Shall we take another turn?” “Not very _enthusiastic_ about his wife,” was his partner’s mental observation as they once more joined the dancers. “Who is the lovely girl in white?” was a question that half the room were asking each other. Alice is at last obtaining a _social success_, dozens of partners vainly beg for dances. She is turning the heads of all the young men, and filling the breasts of her own sex with the devouring flame of envy. Supper was served at round tables accommodating ten or twelve. Sir Reginald and his partner had taken their places at one at which he was a stranger to all the other guests. A fat red-faced man, who was voraciously gobbling down lobster-salad, remarked to his neighbours: “Capital ball! capital supper!” “Yes,” replied a bored-looking youth, with a patronising drawl, “good floor, lots of pretty girls.” “Ah!” added a third, helping himself to ham, “but there is no one that comes within the length of a street of that girl in white, Lady Fairfax.” “Quite agree with you,” responded the bored one, in a tone of deep approval. “Could not get a dance, though,” said another; “card crammed.” “But,” pleaded his partner, a young person with a figure and dress resembling a pink-and-white pin-cushion, “although she is quite too lovely, she has a melancholy expression when her face is in repose. I admire a more _riant_ style. I think Miss Gordon is more taking, though not so strictly pretty.” “I think so too,” said another lady; “Miss Gordon is _my_ beauty.” “You are welcome to her, ladies,” responded the red-faced squire; “none of the gentlemen will dispute her with you--we are all sworn admirers of Lady Fairfax. She’s like a princess--a fairy princess. Let’s drink her health,” seizing a magnum of champagne and suiting the action to the word, having already supped “not wisely, but too well.”