On she came, her lips half-parted, seemingly unconscious of the admiration she was attracting, eclipsing all other women as she passed, and making their beauty, that before had seemed bright enough, look poor and mean beside her own. It took but a few seconds, ten perhaps, for her to walk up the room, and yet to Ernest it seemed long before her eyes met his own, and something passed from them into his heart that remained there all his life. His gaze made her blush a little, it was so unmistakable. She guessed who he was, and passed him with a little inclination of her head. “Well, here we are at last,” she said, addressing her sister in her pure musical voice. “What do you think? something went wrong with the wheel of the fly, and we had to stop to get it mended!” “Indeed!” answered Florence; “I thought that perhaps you came late in order to make a more effective entry.” “Florence,” said her aunt, reprovingly, “you should not say such things.” Florence did not answer, but put her lace handkerchief to her lip. She had bitten it till the blood ran. By this time Ernest had recovered himself. He saw several young fellows bearing down upon them, and knew what they were after. “Miss Ceswick,” he said, “will you introduce me?” No sooner said than done, and at that moment the band began to play a waltz. In five seconds more Eva was floating down the room upon his arm, and the advancing young gentlemen were left lamenting, and, if the truth must be told, anathematising “that puppy Kershaw” beneath their breath. There was a spirit in her feet; she danced divinely. Lightly leaning on his arm, they swept round the room, the incarnation of youthful strength and beauty, and, as they passed, even sour old Lady Asteigh lowered her ancient nose an inch or more, and deigned to ask who that handsome young man dancing with the “tall girl” was. Presently they halted, and Ernest observed a more than usually intrepid man coming towards them, with the design, no doubt, of obtaining an introduction and the promise of dances. But again he was equal to the occasion. “Have you a card?” he asked. “O, yes.” “Will you allow me to put my name down for another dance? I think that our steps suit.” “Yes, we get on nicely. Here it is.” Ernest took it. The young man had arrived now, and was hovering round and glowering. Ernest nodded to him cheerfully, and “put his name” very much down—indeed, for no less than three dances and an extra. Eva opened her eyes a little, but she said nothing; their steps suited so very well. “May I ask you, Kershaw—” began his would-be rival. “O, certainly,” answered Ernest benignly, “I will be with you presently;” and they floated off again on the rising wave of the music.