When Mr. Osborne put me into Mrs. Boulder's carriage at the door, I saw Mr. Edgar's face again turned towards us for a moment. He, too, was going away--and when Mr. Osborne asked me how I liked the party, it was with difficulty I restrained the words on my lips: "I wonder who he is!" I had no doubt he was thinking the same of me; yet I am sure we were not attracted by each other, as people might suppose, who heard what I say. For my part, it was a species of fascination. I did not either like or dislike this stranger; but somehow I wanted to penetrate his thoughts, and to know what manner of man he was. Alice, of course, was waiting for me, and a fire was burning in my room, to make it more cheerful. When Alice loosed off the great shawl I was wrapped in, I could not comprehend, for a moment, what caused her sudden exclamation of pleasure, and the heavy sigh with which it was followed. It was the little diamond ornament which I wore round my neck. I had forgotten it. Yes, this had been my mother's too; but I was tired and sleepy, and not communicative. Had I liked the party? Yes, I thought I had--pretty well--quite as much as I expected; sometimes it was very pretty, that was taking it in the picture point of view--for I did not think it necessary to tell Alice how I had been interested by the stranger. What a pity, I thought, that he was a _young_ man! for people would laugh at me, if I expressed any interest in him. So I lay down to rest in the firelight, to watch the ruddy shadows dancing on the walls, and wakefully and long to consider this evening and all its novelties. It was all novel to me. My dress and my jewels were enough to have woke me for a little out of the usual torpor of my life; but this party which I had been rather ashamed of desiring to go to, I felt I should never forget it now. Why? I could not tell why--but I went to sleep wondering which was Harry Edgar's college, and what he might be thinking of. I even looked into the future with a little eagerness, marvelling what sort of career his was to be, and if I should ever know more of him. It was very strange--for certainly his thoughts, and the subjects they might be occupied with, were nothing to me. THE SIXTH DAY.