cup that only a drop at a time could reach the rosy, sipping lips by
which its brim was courted.

"A little more--a little more," said she, petulantly touching his hand
with the forefinger, to make him incline the cup more generously and
yieldingly. "It smells of spice and sugar, but I can't taste it; your
wrist is so stiff, and you are so stingy."

He indulged her, whispering, however, with gravity: "Don't tell my
mother or Lucy; they wouldn't approve."

"Nor do I," said she, passing into another tone and manner as soon as
she had fairly assayed the beverage, just as if it had acted upon her
like some disenchanting draught, undoing the work of a wizard: "I find
it anything but sweet; it is bitter and hot, and takes away my breath.
Your old October was only desirable while forbidden. Thank you, no
more."

And, with a slight bend--careless, but as graceful as her dance--she
glided from him and rejoined her father.

I think she had spoken truth: the child of seven was in the girl of
seventeen.

Graham looked after her a little baffled, a little puzzled; his eye was
on her a good deal during the rest of the evening, but she did not seem
to notice him.

As we ascended to the drawing-room for tea, she took her father's arm:
her natural place seemed to be at his side; her eyes and her ears were
dedicated to him. He and Mrs. Bretton were the chief talkers of our
little party, and Paulina was their best listener, attending closely to
all that was said, prompting the repetition of this or that trait or
adventure.

"And where were you at such a time, papa? And what did you say then?
And tell Mrs. Bretton what happened on that occasion." Thus she drew
him out.

She did not again yield to any effervescence of glee; the infantine
sparkle was exhaled for the night: she was soft, thoughtful, and
docile. It was pretty to see her bid good-night; her manner to Graham
was touched with dignity: in her very slight smile and quiet bow spoke
the Countess, and Graham could not but look grave, and bend responsive.
I saw he hardly knew how to blend together in his ideas the dancing
fairy and delicate dame.

Next day, when we were all assembled round the breakfast-table,
shivering and fresh from the morning's chill ablutions, Mrs. Bretton
pronounced a decree that nobody, who was not forced by dire necessity,
should quit her house that day.

Indeed, egress seemed next to impossible; the drift darkened the lower
panes of the caseme