Ida was particularly obnoxious this evening, in that pale pink cashmere gown, with a falling collar of fine old Brussels point, a Christmas gift from Mrs. Wendover. The gown might not be the highest development of the Grosvenor Gallery school, but it was at once picturesque and becoming, and Ida was looking her loveliest. 'Why have you never come to see me since your return?' inquired Urania, with languid graciousness. 'I did not think you wanted me,' Ida answered, coolly. 'I am always glad to see my friends. I stop at home on Thursday afternoons on purpose; but perhaps you have not quite forgiven Bess and me for that little bit of fun we indulged in last September,' said Urania. 'I have quite forgiven Bess her share of the joke,' answered Ida, scanning Miss Rylance's smiling countenance with dark, scornful eyes, 'because I know she had no idea of giving me pain.' 'But won't you forgive me too? Are you going to leave me out in the cold?' 'I don't think you care a straw whether I forgive or do not forgive you. You wanted to wound me--to humiliate me--and you succeeded--to a certain degree. But you see I have survived the humiliation. You did not hurt me quite so much as you intended, perhaps.' 'What a too absurd view to take of the thing!' cried Urania, with an injured air. 'An innocent practical joke, not involving harm of any kind; a little girlish prank played on the spur of the moment. I thought you were more sensible than to be offended--much less seriously angry--at any such nonsense.' Ida contemplated her enemy silently for a few moments, as her hands wandered softly through one of those Kinder-scenen which she knew by heart. 'If I am mistaken in your motives it is I who have to apologize,' she said, quietly. 'Perhaps I am inclined to make too much of what is really nothing. But I detest all practical jokes, and I should have thought you were the very last person to indulge in one, Miss Rylance. Sportiveness is hardly in your line.' 'Nobody is always wise,' murmured Urania, with her disagreeable simper. 'Not even Miss Rylance?' questioned Ida, without looking up from the keys. 'Please don't quarrel,' pleaded Bessie, piteously; 'such a bad use for the last night of the year. It was more my fault than anyone else's, though the suggestion did certainly come from Urania--but no harm has come of it--nor good either, I am sorry to say--and I have repented in sackcloth and ashes. Why should the dismal failure be raked up to-night?'