ion. In
the great hall, and the adjacent rooms, the rays of countless candles
fell upon brilliant uniforms, upon silk and velvet and brocade and
broadcloth, upon powdered hair, and fans and furbelows, upon white
necks and bosoms, and dazzling eyes, upon jewels and golden buckles
and shining sword-hilts.

We that entered from the Faringfield coach were Mrs. Faringfield and
my mother, Margaret and Fanny, Tom and myself. We had just received
the greeting of our handsome hostess, and were passing up the hall,
when my eyes alighted upon the figure of an officer who stood alone,
in an attitude of pensive negligence, beside the mantelpiece. He was
fully six feet tall, but possessed a carriage of grace and elegance,
instead of the rigid erectness of so many of his comrades. He had a
slender, finely cut, English face, a long but delicate chin, gray eyes
of a beautiful clearness, slightly wavy hair that was now powdered,
and the hands and legs of a gentleman.

"What a handsome fellow! Who is he?" whispered Margaret to Fanny.

I glanced at her. Her eyes showed admiration--an expression I had
never before seen in them. I looked back at the officer. He in turn
had seen her. His face, from having worn a look half melancholy, half
languid, had speedily become animated with interest. 'Twas as if each
of these two superb creatures had unexpectedly fallen upon something
they had scarce hoped to find in their present environment.

"A mighty pretty gentleman, indeed," said my mother.

"Nay," said Margaret, with a swift relapse into indifference, "no such
Adonis neither, on second view."

But I saw that she turned the corner of her eye upon him at intervals
as she moved forward, and that she was not sorry or annoyed to find
that he kept his gaze boldly upon her all the while. Presently he
looked about him, and singled out an acquaintance, to whom he made his
way. Five minutes later he was being introduced, as Captain Falconer,
to Mrs. Winwood.

"'Faith," said he, in a courteous, subdued voice, after bowing very
low, "I did not think to find a lady so recently from St. James', in
this place. One might swear, looking at you, madam, that this was
Almack's."

"Sir, you speak to one that never saw St. James' but in imagination,"
said Margaret, coolly. "Sure one can be white, and moderately civil,
and yet be of New York."

"The deuce, madam! A native? You?"

"Ay, sir, of the aborigines; the daughter of a red Indian!"

"'Fore God, t