General Lyon was standing at some distance with a group of old friends that he had been so fortunate as to collect together. Anna was waltzing with Henry Spencer. Dick was waltzing with Nanny Seymour. Drusilla never waltzed, and therefore for the time she was sitting alone on the sofa with her court standing around her. There were Prince Ernest of Hohenlinden, General Count Molaski, the Duke of Lillespont, and one or two others of the same class. Drusilla exhibited none of the awkwardness of a novice under such trying circumstances. The only lady in the circle, she was nevertheless not only self-possessed and graceful, but she was animated and witty. She kept the ball of conversation quickly flying back and forth, so that those about her forgot the passage of time until the cessation of the waltz music and the commencement of a march, followed by a general movement of the company in one direction proclaimed the opening of the supper rooms. With a bow, Prince Ernest asked the honor of taking Mrs Lyon into supper. With a smile of thanks, she accepted the courtesy, and arose. And he drew her arm within his own, and proudly led her off. They passed so near Alexander that he might have stepped upon her dress. But she never turned her eyes in his direction. “She has forgotten me—clearly and finally forgotten me! But I will be hanged if I don’t make somebody sensible of my existence before the night is over!” said Alexander to himself as he followed them. At supper the prince waited on the beauty with as much devotion as ever courtier offered to his queen. Near them stood Anna, served by Henry Spencer and Nanny Seymour waited on by Dick. There was really nothing at which Alexander had the least right to take exception. Yet his blood was boiling with jealousy so that he was actually almost frenzied. After supper Prince Ernest led Drusilla back to her seat, and stood devoting himself to her service until the next dance was called and Captain Hepsworth came up to claim her as his partner in the Lancers. Very sweetly Drusilla smiled on the young dragoon, as she gave him her hand and let him lead her forth to the dance. But not Drusilla’s smile of courtesy nor the young officer’s simper of gratified vanity enraged Alick half so much as the air and manner assumed by Prince Ernest. He, the prince, gazed after the retreating form of the beauty until she was lost in the crowd, and then with a profound sigh he took possession of her vacated seat, picked up a flower that might or might not have fallen from her bouquet, pressed it to his lips and put it in his bosom. “I’ll kill him for that, or he shall kill me! I hardly care which!” growled the maniac in the depth of his heart. He would have liked to throttle his Highness on the spot; and in refraining from doing so he only postponed his vengeance.