Scarcely had the door closed upon Mary, ere there was a violent bell ring, and Henry Lincoln was ushered into the parlor, where Ella, radiant with smiles, sat awaiting him. They were invited that evening to a little sociable, and Ella had bestowed more than usual time and attention upon her toilet, for Henry was very observant of ladies' dresses, and now that "he had a right," was constantly dictating, as to what she should wear, and what she should not. On this evening every thing seemed fated to go wrong. Ella had heard Henry say that he was partial to mazarine blue, and not suspecting that his preference arose from the fact of his having frequently seen her sister in a neatly fitting blue merino she determined to surprise him with his favorite color. Accordingly, when Henry entered the parlor, he found her arrayed in a rich blue silk, made low in the neck with loose, full sleeves, and flounced to the waist. The young man had just met Mary at the gate, and as usual after seeing her was in the worst of humors. His first salutation to Ella was "Well, Mother Bunch, you look pretty, don't you?" "I don't know. Do I?" said Ella, taking him literally. "Do you?" he repeated, with an impatient toss of his head. "All but the pretty. I advise you to take off that thing" (pointing to the dress), "I never saw you look worse." Since Ella's engagement she had cried half the time, and now, as usual, the tears came to her eyes, provoking Henry still more. "Now make your eyes red," said he. "I declare, I wonder if there's any thing of you but tears." "Please don't talk so," said Ella, laying her hand on his arm. "I had this dress made on purpose to please you, for you once said you liked dark blue." "And so I do on your sister, but your complexion is different from hers, and then those _ruffles_ and bag sleeves make you look like a little barrel!" "You told me you admired flounces, and these sleeves are all the fashion," said Ella, the tears again flowing in spite of herself. "Well, I do think Mary looks well in flounces," returned Henry, "but she is almost a head taller than you, and better proportioned every way." Ella longed to remind him of a time when he called her sister "a hay pole," while he likened herself to "a little sylph, fairy;" &c., but she dared not; and Henry, bent on finding fault, touched her white bare shoulder, saying "I wish you wouldn't wear such dresses. Mary don't except at parties, and I heard a gentleman say that she displayed better taste than any young lady of his acquaintance." Ella was thoroughly angry, and amid a fresh shower of tears exclaimed, "_Mary_,--_Mary_,--I'm sick of the name. It's nothing but Mary,--Mary all day long with Mrs. Campbell, and now _you_ must thrust her in my face. If you think her so perfect, why don't you marry her, instead of me?"