The curtain slowly rises, disclosing a gay and brilliant scene, the presence chamber at the Court of Victoria—that lady, even more royal by her virtues, than through her exalted position, though that were of the highest ever filled by woman. Graceful and gracious stands the Queen, to receive the homage of the fairest and the noblest of the land. Her royal husband is beside her, in the prime of manly beauty. In a semi-circle, glittering with diamonds, and gold, and scarlet, stand the illustrious princes and princesses of the blood; and still farther in the background, appears a scarcely less dazzling group of court beauties and gallant cavaliers in attendance upon the royal party. The beauteous Duchess of Wellington, whose long dark lashes veil eyes whose lustre sorrow and disappointment have somewhat dimmed; the brilliant Lady Jocelyn, the queenly Duchess of Southerland, all are there in attendance on their beloved Sovereign. The _coup d’œuil_ is splendid; but few who pass before that august circle dare raise their eyes to admire it. A moment, and the Lord Chamberlain receives a card, and announces the name of a lady to be presented to her Majesty. The lady, robed in white, steps gracefully forward, and makes a deep and respectful obeisance to the Queen; another, equally graceful, but somewhat less humble to the royal circle, and then backing slowly out of the presence chamber, receives the train on her arm from a page in waiting—when, no longer under the immediate eye of majesty, she is permitted to walk in the manner which nature intended. A whisper of admiration is heard from many a young scion of nobility and officer present. “How beautiful!” “Who is she?” “She must be a married woman.” “Ah! it is the new Russian Princess they talk so much about.” “No—it is Baroness What’s-her-name—you know who I mean—they say the Duke of Devonshire is smitten with her.” “I say, Melville, who _is_ that pretty creature?” The young guardsman either did not, or would not reply, though he soon set the matter at rest by advancing toward the fair object of all this crossfire. “How are you, Mrs. Travers?” said he. “Allow me to pilot you through the crowd.” “Thank you, Col. Melville—I shall most gladly avail myself of your escort to my carriage.” “How did you get through the presentation?” “Very well. Her Majesty appeared in a most gracious mood, and the Prince looked splendidly handsome.” “As _you_ do to-day—_you_ are the true Queen of the drawing-room.” Then, in a lower voice—“Oh, Evelyn, let us hasten from this place. I cannot hear that another than myself should even see you, now that our time together is so short.” “We shall meet again ere long I trust,” she replied. “With what coolness and indifference you speak of our parting. Ah, it was not so when at Woodlands you—” Evelyn’s cheek flushed, and her eyes took a displeased expression.