Mr. Fletcher laughed as he strolled away; but Christie was all the more amusing for her want of coquetry, and soon after he tried her again. The great hotel was all astir one evening with bustle, light, and music; for the young people had a hop, as an appropriate entertainment for a melting July night. With no taste for such folly, even if health had not forbidden it, Mr. Fletcher lounged about the piazzas, tantalizing the fair fowlers who spread their nets for him, and goading sundry desperate spinsters to despair by his erratic movements. Coming to a quiet nook, where a long window gave a fine view of the brilliant scene, he found Christie leaning in, with a bright, wistful face, while her hand kept time to the enchanting music of a waltz. “Wisely watching the lunatics, instead of joining in their antics,” he said, sitting down with a sigh. Christie looked around and answered, with the wistful look still in her eyes: “I’m very fond of that sort of insanity; but there is no place for me in Bedlam at present.” “I daresay I can find you one, if you care to try it. I don’t indulge myself.” And Mr. Fletcher’s eye went from the rose in Christie’s brown hair to the silvery folds of her best gown, put on merely for the pleasure of wearing it because every one else was in festival array. She shook her head. “No, thank you. Governesses are very kindly treated in America; but ball-rooms like that are not for them. I enjoy looking on, fortunately; so I have my share of fun after all.” “I shan’t get any complaints out of her. Plucky little soul! I rather like that,” said Mr. Fletcher to himself; and, finding his seat comfortable, the corner cool, and his companion pleasant to look at, with the moonlight doing its best for her, he went on talking for his own satisfaction.