crossed over, when he noticed a sudden flush on
her countenance, succeeded by deadly pallor. Following the direction
her eye had taken, he saw a slender, elegant young man, who, with
some variation in the fashion of dress, seemed the veritable Gerald
Fitzgerald to whom he had been introduced in the flowery parlor so
many years ago. His first feeling was pain, that this vision of her
first lover had power to excite such lively emotion in his wife; but
his second thought was, "He recalls her first-born son."

Young Fitzgerald eagerly sought out Mr. Green, and said: "Please
introduce me the instant this dance is ended, that I may ask her for
the next. There will be so many trying to engage her, you know."

He was introduced accordingly. The lady politely acceded to his
request, and the quick flush on her face was attributed by all, except
Mr. King, to the heat produced by dancing.

When her young partner took her hand to lead her to the next dance,
she stole a glance toward her husband, and he saw that her soul was
troubled. The handsome couple were "the observed of all observers";
and the youth was so entirely absorbed with his mature partner, that
not a little jealousy was excited in the minds of young ladies. When
he led her to a seat, she declined the numerous invitations that
crowded upon her, saying she should dance no more that evening. Young
Fitzgerald at once professed a disinclination to dance, and begged
that, when she was sufficiently rested, she would allow him to lead
her to the piano, that he might hear her sing something from Norma, by
which she had so delighted his mother, in Rome.

"Your son seems to be entirely devoted to the queen of the evening,"
said Mr. Green to his cousin.

"How can you wonder at it?" replied Mrs. Fitzgerald. "She is such a
superb creature!"

"What was her character in Rome?" inquired a lady who had joined the
group.

"Her stay there was very short," answered Mrs. Fitzgerald. "Her
manners were said to be unexceptionable. The gentlemen were quite
vexed because she made herself so inaccessible."

The conversation was interrupted by La Campaneo's voice, singing,
"_Ah, bello a me ritorno_." The orchestra hushed at once, and the
dancing was suspended, while the company gathered round the piano,
curious to hear the remarkable singer. Mrs. Fitzgerald had long
ceased to allude to what was once her favorite topic,--the wonderful
resemblance between La Senorita's voice and a mysteri