and
uncomfortable generally, but a cozy little gathering of young ladies and
gentlemen, people whom the minister desired to see come into more social
contact with each other. Among the number was Miss Dora Hastings. Dora
still continued to come to Sunday-school, although she had arrived at
that mysterious age when young ladies are apt to be too old for anything
reasonable; but Dora, for some unaccountable reason, so at least her
mother thought, clung to her little girl habits, and went to
Sunday-school; so she chanced to be numbered among the guests at Mr.
Birge's party. Pliny was also invited but had chosen not to come, so Ben
Phillips had supplied his place as escort, and stood now chatting with
her when a new arrival was announced.

Mrs. Birge came to the end of the room where Dora stood, and with her a
young gentleman.

"Dora," she said, "permit me to introduce a young friend of mine--Mr.
Mallery, Miss Hastings."

Now it so happened that although Theodore had been for years a member of
the same Sabbath-school with this young lady, and had seen her sitting
in the Hastings' pew in church on every Sabbath day, still this was the
first time that he had met her face to face, near enough to speak to
her, since that evening so long ago when they conversed together on a
momentous subject. Theodore's knowledge of the world and social
distinctions had increased sufficiently to make him extremely doubtful
concerning the young lady's reception, but Dora was cordial and frank,
and said, "Good evening, Mr. Mallery," as she would have greeted any
stranger, and set him at once at his ease.

Ben Phillips good-naturedly held out his hand, and said, "How d'ye do,
Tode?" and made room for him to enter the circle. It was a curious
evening to the young man, the first in that mysterious place called
"society." Probably the young ladies and gentlemen fluttering through
the rooms had not the faintest idea how closely they were being watched
and studied by one pair of earnest eyes.

Theodore's ambition for a yellow cravat had long since given place to
more important things--given place so utterly that the subject of dress
had been almost entirely passed over. Before this evening waned he was
thoroughly conscious of his position. He discovered that his clothes
were oddly fitted and oddly made; that his boots were rough and coarse;
that his hands were gloveless; that even his hair was as curiously
arranged as possible. He discovered more