He stood opposite her in the waltz quadrille. He did not know her, but thought what a pretty girl that was in the pink dress, and wondered if I knew her. (I was in one of the side couples.) At “Ladies half change,” he reached out his hand with eagerness and she gave hers without reluctance. When they stood in their places again, he continued to hold hers, instead of dropping it as he might. (This may have been absent-mindedness.) Presently she turned to him, smiling, and glanced down at their hands. He smiled, too. Then she withdrew her hand, but without apparent offense. Just then the order came, “Forward and back.” He reached out his hand for hers, saying, _sotto voce_, “You see, you might as well have let me keep it.” This was all the preliminary skirmishing. The question of veracity comes next. After the dance my cousin came to me. “Who was that pretty girl opposite me?” He said. “What girl?” I asked. “The one in pink: who was to your right: and danced with the man in the wilted collar.” “Ah! That was Miss Hart. Nice girl.” “Yes,” assented my cousin. “She squeezed my hand the second time we met in the grand right and left. I wish you’d introduce me to her.” The next dance happened to be the second extra, which I had with Miss Hart. We had not gone half way around the room when she said: “Why didn’t you introduce your cousin to me? He squeezed my hand in the last quadrille.” Of course it’s a simple matter of tact. I have my own opinion, but prefer to allow the sentimental reader to judge for himself. I have known Miss Hart a long time and she never has squeezed my—however I don’t suppose that really bears on the point. THE UNUSABLE PLOT. Here is another plot, but unfortunately it belongs to a friend of mine, so that I cannot use it. If is half past four in Paris—stories of this class are always put in Paris—and the hero, who is also the villain, goes into a church. He stops at one of the chapels and looks in. A woman is there, but the light is dim and he cannot at first be sure that it is she whom he seeks, women’s backs being all somewhat alike. She is kneeling, and she has been crying, though the hero cannot see that. He speaks to her and thanks her for giving him this opportunity of seeing her, and is going to take her hand; but she interrupts him and tells him that it is all a terrible mistake, that she cares for him to be sure, but that it is in a platonic way as a brother, that she truly loves her husband, and is sorry for all that has happened. The hero who is also a villain listens with half a smile: he has seen women repent before, and it adds zest to the chase. His manner warms and he makes love admirably. The heroine is nice—so the person who made this plot told me—and the hero is horrid. His hair is a little thin on the top of his head, and his boots are carefully polished, and he is a little fat. He is always polite to a pretty woman, but his politeness is something of an insult.