The hall was already crowded with people, and the supper of the Methodist ladies was busily in progress when they entered the place that was gayly decorated with flowers and bunting, framing the pictures that lined the walls. "Let us walk around and look at the beauties," Mary said, and, following the example of the other visitors, they mingled with the crowd and feasted their eyes on the five hundred pretty faces that were deemed worthy to compete for the prize. They soon found out that Miss Clarke's portrait and the group of six sewing girls claimed more attention than any others. But there were many eyes that turned from the pictured to the living beauty, and whispers went round that drew many eyes to Liane, wondering at her marvelous grace. Liane had never appeared at a public function in the town before, and many of the people thought she was a stranger. Curious whispers ran from lip to lip: "Who is the lovely girl with the pink roses?" Roma, in her rich gown and sparkling rubies, heard the question, and bit her lips till the blood almost started. "It is only one of the dressmaker's sewing girls!" she said haughtily, and started across the room to her mother, who had paused to speak to Jesse Devereaux. He had just entered, looking pale and superbly handsome; but with his right arm in a sling, and the lady, for Roma's sake, resolved to forget her resentment and try to propitiate him. "I am afraid I was too hasty that morning," she said gently. "Will you forgive me and be friends again, Jesse?" "Gladly," he replied, for he valued her good opinion, little as he cared for her proud, overbearing daughter. The next moment Roma, coming up to them, heard her mother exclaim, to her infinite chagrin: "Tell me, Jesse, who is that perfectly lovely girl in the white gown with the pink roses at her waist?" Jesse looked quickly, and saw Liane again for the first time since that eventful evening on the beach, when he had saved her from insult and injury. His heart gave a strangling throb of joy and love, mingled with pride in her peerless loveliness. "You are right. She is peerless," he answered, in a deep voice, freighted with emotion. "Her name is Liane Lester." "Impossible!" almost shrieked the lady in her surprise; but at that moment Roma confronted them, her proud face pale, her eyes gleaming, murmuring: "Oh, Jesse, how glad I am to see you out again! No wonder you were cross with me, suffering as you were with your poor arm. But I forgive you all." "I thank you," he replied courteously, and Roma took her station at his side quite as if she had the old right. He was vexed, for he was anxious to cross over to Liane and ask her to have an ice with him. Then he would keep at her side all the rest of the evening. He would see her home, too, and before they parted he would tell her all his love, and ask for her hand.