hter, in her estimation, would be
none too good for her darling son."

Mr. Grosvenor smiled satirically.

"She is a wonderful woman--my lady--but I fancy she is matched at last.
If Kingsland sets his heart on this latest fancy, all the powers of
earth and Hades will not move him. Do you recollect that little affair
of Miss Kingsland and poor Douglas of the --th? My lady put a stop to
that, and he was shot, poor fellow, before Balaklava. But the son and
heir is quite another story. Apropos, I must ask little Mildred to
dance. _Adio_, Carteret!"

The ball whirled on--the hours went by like bright, swift flashes, and,
from the moment of the redowa, to Sir Everard Kingsland it was one
brief, intoxicating dream of delirium. My Lady Kingsland's maternal
frowns, my Lady Louise's imperial scorn--all were forgotten. She was a
madcap and a hoiden--a wild, hare-brained, fox-hunting Amazon--all that
was shocking and unwomanly, but, at the same time, all that was bright,
beautiful, entrancing, irresistible. His golden-haired ideal, with the
azure eyes and seraphic smile was forgotten, and this gray-eyed
enchantress, robed in white, crowned with ivy, dancing desperately the
whole night long, set brain and heart reeling in the mad tarantella of
love.

It was over at last. The gray and dismal dawn of the November morning
stole chilly through the curtained casements. A half-blown rose from
Miss Hunsden's bouquet bloomed in Sir Everard's button-hole, and it was
Sir Everard's blissful privilege to fold Miss Hunsden's furred mantle
around those pearly shoulders.

The bleak morning breeze blew her perfumed hair across his eyes, as she
leaned on his arm and he handed her into the carriage.

"We shall expect to see you at Hunsden Hall," the Indian officer said,
heartily. "Your father's son, Sir Everard, will ever be a most welcome
guest."

"Yes," said Harrie, coquettishly; "come and inquire how my health is
after dancing all night. Etiquette demands that much, and I'm a great
stickler for etiquette."

"Sir Everard would never have discovered it, I am certain, my dear, if
you had not told him."

"A thousand thanks! I shall only be too delighted to avail myself of
both invitations."

Sir Everard went home to Kingsland Court as he never had gone home
before. The whole world was _couleur de rose_--the bleak November
morning and the desolate high-road--sweeter, brighter than the Elysian
Fields.

How beautiful she was!