An hour later, in Mrs. Littlefield's pretty drawing-room, amid music, lights, and talk, Miss Crowe was sweeping a grand curtsy before a tall, sallow man, whose name she caught from her hostess's redundant murmur as Bruce. Five minutes later, when the honest matron gave a glance at her newly started enterprise from the other side of the room, she said to herself that really, for a plain country-girl, Miss Crowe did this kind of thing very well. Her next glimpse of the couple showed them whirling round the room to the crashing thrum of the piano. At eleven o'clock she beheld them linked by their finger-tips in the dazzling mazes of the reel. At half-past eleven she discerned them charging shoulder to shoulder in the serried columns of the Lancers. At midnight she tapped her young friend gently with her fan. "Your sash is unpinned, my dear.--I think you have danced often enough with Mr. Bruce. If he asks you again, you had better refuse. It's not quite the thing.--Yes, my dear, I know.--Mr. Simpson, will you be so good as to take Miss Crowe down to supper?" I'm afraid young Simpson had rather a snappish partner. After the proper interval, Mr. Bruce called to pay his respects to Mrs. Littlefield. He found Miss Crowe also in the drawing-room. Lizzie and he met like old friends. Mrs. Littlefield was a willing listener; but it seemed to her that she had come in at the second act of the play. Bruce went off with Miss Crowe's promise to drive with him in the afternoon. In the afternoon he swept up to the door in a prancing, tinkling sleigh. After some minutes of hoarse jesting and silvery laughter in the keen wintry air, he swept away again with Lizzie curled up in the buffalo-robe beside him, like a kitten in a rug. It was dark when they returned. When Lizzie came in to the sitting-room fire, she was congratulated by her hostess upon having made a "conquest." "I think he's a most gentlemanly man," says Lizzie. "So he is, my dear," said Mrs. Littlefield; "Mr. Bruce is a perfect gentleman. He's one of the finest young men I know. He's not so young either. He's a little too yellow for my taste; but he's beautifully educated. I wish you could hear his French accent. He has been abroad I don't know how many years. The firm of Bruce and Robertson does an immense business." "And I'm so glad," cries Lizzie, "he's coming to Glenham in March! He's going to take his sister to the water-cure." "Really?--poor thing! She has very good manners." "What do you think of his looks?" asked Lizzie, smoothing her feather. "I was speaking of Jane Bruce. I think Mr. Bruce has fine eyes." "I must say I like tall men," says Miss Crowe. "Then Robert Bruce is your man," laughs Mr. Littlefield. "He's as tall as a bell-tower. And he's got a bell-clapper in his head, too." "I believe I will go and take off my things," remarks Miss Crowe, flinging up her curls.