eecy fabric, topaz-coloured, with black
lace trimmings; yellow roses gemmed her hair, and topaz and ruby ornaments
clasped her throat and arms. An Eastern queen she looked, exacting
universal homage, and full of fiery jealousy whenever her eyes fell upon
one who stood just opposite. Irene's dress was an airy blue _tulle_,
flounced to the waist, and without trimming, save the violet and clematis
clusters. Never had her rare beauty been more resplendent--more dazzlingly
chilly; it seemed the glitter of an arctic ice-berg lit by some low
midnight sun, and turn whither she would fascinated groups followed her
steps. Salome's reputation as a brilliant _belle_ had become extended since
Irene's long seclusion, yet to-night, on the reappearance of the latter, it
was apparent to even the most obtuse that she had resumed her sway--the
matchless cynosure of that social system. Fully conscious of the intense
admiration she excited, she moved slowly from room to room, smiling once or
twice when she met her father's proud look of fond triumph fixed upon her.

Leaning against the window to rest, while Charles Harris went in search of
a glass of water, she heard Aubrey's name pronounced by some one on the
gallery.

"Well, the very latest report is that, after all, Aubrey never fancied
Grace Harris, as the quidnuncs asserted--never addressed her, or anybody
else--but is now, sure enough, about to bear off _belle_ Salome, the new
prize, right in the face of twenty rivals. I should really like to hear of
something which that man could not do, if he set himself to work in
earnest. I wonder whether it ever occurs to him that he once stood behind
Jacob Watson's counter?"

"But Aubrey is not here to-night. Does not affect parties, I believe?"

"Rarely shows himself. But you mistake: he came in not twenty minutes ago;
and you should have seen what I saw--the rare-ripe red deepen on Salome's
cheeks when he spoke to her."

Irene moved away from the window, and soon after was about to accompany
Charlie to the hall, when a Mr. Bainbridge came up and claimed her hand for
the cotillion forming in the next room. As they took their places on the
floor, she saw that Salome and Russell would be _vis-a-vis_.

Irene moved mechanically through the airy mazes of the dance, straining her
ear to catch the mellow voice which uttered such graceful, fascinating
nothings to Salome. Several times in the course of the cotillion Russell's
hand clasped her, but