The family Bible registered the eldest Miss Brooke as thirty-two years old, and she had all the repose and dignity of the age, with all the charms of ripe loveliness. Men called her a "magnificent woman," envious girls sneeringly dubbed her an old maid. This latter was her own fault, certainly, for she had admirers by the score who went wild over her rare blonde beauty. But Miss Brooke, unknown to all, treasured a broken dream in her heart like her hapless namesake: "Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable; Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat." So the years went and came, and Elaine answered no to all her suitors, though her mother frowned and her father sighed, while deep down in her heart she echoed the "Lily Maid's" song: "Sweet is true love, though given in vain, in vain, And sweet is death who puts an end to pain." But none of this pain was visible on Elaine's face as she looked up at Guy Kenmore with that calm, sweet smile, softly bright, like the moonlight that shone on the outer world. "Mr. Kenmore, I know you will excuse Irene from her dances," she said sweetly. "She wants to go and play games with the other children in the parlor." "_The other children_," Irene muttered ominously, and before Mr. Kenmore could murmur his ready assent, she exclaimed, in a tone of witching _diablerie_: "Yes, but I'm not going to desert my partner! Come along, Mr. Kenmore, and you shall be my play-fellow with the children." With a gay little laugh and a triumphant glance at her sister, Irene slipped her hand in his arm, and led her captive away, leaving Elaine gazing after them in silent dismay and despair. Irene had outwitted her after all, and her artful scheme for keeping her apart from Bertha's lover was an ignominious failure. With a sinking heart and a face as pale as death, she turned away to convey the tidings of her failure to her mother. Mrs. Brooke, a still handsome woman of the brunette type, received the news with an ominous flash of her large black eyes. "Little minx! she shall pay for it, dearly," she muttered, between her teeth. "Oh, mamma, it is only thoughtlessness I think. She doesn't really mean to be disobedient," faltered Elaine, tremulously. Her mother gave her a swift, displeased glance that silenced the excusing words on her lips. Bertha came up, flushed from the dance, a dark, haughty beauty, three years younger than Elaine, but never owning to more than twenty years. "Where is Mr. Kenmore? I left him with you, mamma," she said. "He left me to seek his partner for the next dance," Mrs. Brooke answered, in a tone of repressed fury. Bertha turned her large, flashing dark eyes on her elder sister. "I thought mamma sent you to get Irene out of the way," she said, imperiously.