He understood the implied promise in this remark and gave the hand on his arm a quick pressure, before relinquishing her to the care of the pale-complexioned youth who by this time had returned to her side. In another moment Paula came up on the arm of a black-whiskered gentleman all shirt front and eye-glasses. “O Cicely,” she cried, (she called Miss Stuyvesant, Cicely now) “is it not a delightful evening?” “Are you enjoying yourself so much?” inquired that somewhat agitated little lady, with a glance at the countenance of her friend’s attendant. “I fear it would scarcely seem consistent in me now to say no,” returned the radiant girl, with a laughing glance towards the same gentleman. But when they were alone, the gentleman having departed on some of the innumerable errands with which ladies seem to delight in afflicting their attendant cavaliers at balls or receptions, she atoned for that glance by remarking, “I do not find the average partner that falls to one’s lot in such receptions all that fancy paints.” And then finding she had repeated a phrase of Mr. Ensign’s, blushed, though no one stood near her but Cicely. “Fancy’s brush would need to be dipped in but two colors to present to our eye the mass of them,” was Cicely’s laughing reply. “A streak of black for the coat, and a daub of white for the shirt front. _Voila tout._” “With perhaps a dash of red in some cases,” murmured a voice over their shoulders. They turned with hurried blushes. “Ah, Mr. Ensign,” quoth Cicely in unabashed gaiety, “we reserve red for the exceptions. We did not intend to include our acknowledged friends in our somewhat sweeping assertion.” “Ah, I see, the black streak and the white daub are a symbol of, ‘Er—Miss Stuyvesant—very warm this evening! Have an ice, do. _I_ always have an ice after dancing; so refreshing, you know.’” The manner in which he imitated the usual languid drawl of certain of the young scapegraces heretofore mentioned, was irresistible. Paula forgot her confusion in her mirth. “You are blessed with a capacity for playing both rôles, I perceive,” cried Cicely with unusual abandon. “Well, it is convenient, there is nothing like scope.” “Unless it is hope,” whispered Mr. Ensign so low that only Paula could hear. “But I warn you,” continued Cicely, with a sweet soft laugh that seemed to carry her heart far out into the passing throng, “that we have no fondness for the model beau of the period. A dish of milk makes a very good supper but it looks decidedly pale on the dinner table.” “Yes,” said Paula, eying the various young men that filed up and down before them, some pale, some dark, some handsome, some plain, but all smiling and dapper, if not debonair, “some men could be endured if only they were not _men_.” Mr. Ensign gave her a quick look, and while he laughed at the paradox, straightened himself like one who could be a man if the occasion called. She saw the action and blushed.