When that first dance was over, Lord Carrol led Josephine to a seat, and, bowing before her, said, in as light a tone as he could command: “Thank you, Miss Richards. I suppose our part in this little farce closes now. Allow me to congratulate you upon having assisted in carrying it off in the most perfect manner. I must confess,” he added, a slight shade falling over his face, “that it does not strike me as just the thing to make a mockery of sacred subjects; but since Minnie Shelton, who is a veritable witch, and our guests have enjoyed it, perhaps I should not preach about it.” Josephine looked up at him with a strange glitter in her eyes, while her face was crimson. Oh, if he would but utter one fond, tender word to her—if he would but give her a sign even, to show that his heart had been thrilled like her own while they were standing there side by side! He noticed her heightened color, and thought she looked at him queerly, but he never mistrusted the storm that was tearing her heart asunder. “I fear you are very warm,” he said, kindly. “Shall I get you an ice?” “Thanks, no. I shall do very well,” she answered, constrainedly. And then, with another bow, he excused himself and left her. A convulsive sob broke from the girl’s lips as she watched him pass down the long room and out at a lower door; then she, too, arose and glided through the window near which she had been sitting. She sped along the wide piazza until she came to the end, where a flight of steps led down to a little arbor, or cluster of small trees which inclosed a great piece of statuary. She fled within it, and sinking down upon the granite base which supported the marble group, she gave vent to her misery in a burst of passionate tears. Lord Carrol, too, as he passed out of the ball-room, was more deeply moved than he would have liked to betray, and not very well pleased either with the part he had been compelled to play so much against his inclination. Had his companion been any other than Josephine, perhaps he would have felt differently; but he could not forget that he had once been represented as her lover, and something in her manner to-night warned him that she would not have regretted it had that farce been a _bona fide_ marriage service instead, and he was exceedingly annoyed over the affair. He met his mother as he was going through a hall, and she detained him by gently laying her hand upon his arm. “Has anything disturbed you?” she asked, looking up into his clouded face. “No, mother; nothing but that farce which has just been enacted. I do not like such things; they seem too much like sacrilege,” he returned.