you?'

'Generally, not always,' admits Jimmy.

'The _Racing Calendar_, _versus_ Tennyson, Longfellow, or Mrs Browning;
but I don't believe you're half listening to me,' says she, for he is
gazing straight in front of him.

'I assure you I was,' he protests, 'I am in a crowd now, may I not muse
on the "absent face that has fixed" me.'

'No, certainly not, you ought to be thinking of me,' this in a slightly
aggrieved tone.

'How do you know I wasn't,' gazing at her earnestly.

'I'm not absent,' and then Philippa seeing what might be implied,
blushes a rosy red, and rising says, 'We must go back now, I promised
Lord Helmdon this dance, and he'll never find me here. Ah! there he is.'

'Are you so anxious to dance with him?' asks Jimmy in a would-be
indifferent tone.

'Yes, of course,' she replies, 'I like him so much, don't you?'

'Oh, yes,' replies Dalrymple with equal indifference. And so the evening
wears on and Miss Seaton is congratulating herself at having eluded
Captain Harkness, when she suddenly finds him standing before her.

'Won't you give me a dance?' he says in his suave tone. 'I have been
trying to speak to you all the evening--'

'Have you?' she replies, and not knowing quite how to get out of it.
'You may have the next one if you like,' she says.

'May I really? Then I shall find you somewhere about here?'

Lippa nods, and her partner, an aged baronet, claims her and they go
through the intricacies of the lancers. Almost before the next dance has
begun, Harkness appears; he dances beautifully and knows it too, but it
is not long before he suggests a saunter in the garden.

Philippa consents, and forth they go into the cool night air. A hundred
tiny lamps have been placed among the bushes, which shed a subdued light
over the scene; charming corners have been arranged to sit in, while
the splashing of the fountains mingles with the laughter and
conversation of the company.

'What an interminable dance,' thinks Philippa, as having walked a good
way round the garden, she finds herself once more outside the ball-room,
and the same tune is still being played. She heaves a sigh of despair
and raising her eyes meets those of Dalrymple, who is propping himself
against a pillar. There is a look of reproach in them, and Lippa, though
her conscience tells her she was unkind to him, feels an insane desire
to make him jealous, and turns with an adorable smile to Harkness, not
having heard a word of wh