nse and come in answer to that telegram? Arethusa did not
really want him; did not really care, now that he was here. She was
altogether changed; and, thought Timothy, rather soberly, his head
resting on one hand as he leaned against the mantel-shelf and stared
down into the fire, it was not at all for the better.

But Timothy was to be still more unhappy before the evening had got
fairly started. For in Arethusa's transparent face and her eyes lifted
adoringly to the Wonderful Mr. Bennet, the very first time he saw her
dance with him, poor Timothy read his Certain Doom. As he had predicted
before she had ever left the Farm, so it had come to pass.

Timothy left his station by the tall library mantel and wandered across
the room to an inconspicuous corner, where he propped his manly form up
against the wall and followed Arethusa with his eyes, totally
unregardful of anything else in their line of vision, as she swayed and
dipped like a snow fairy in her airy white gown, about the room. He was
no great adept in the concealment of his feelings; his tragedy was
visible so that all they who ran might read, even the swiftest.

He refused to dance. And he could have danced, knowing how very well.
Was not Arethusa's present proficiency some evidence of this fact? But
Timothy was sure that his heart was broken; and how could he dance with
a broken heart? So he sulked in his corner and the moments of the Party
sped by joyfully and all too quickly, for everybody else. Arethusa's
guests, with the sole exception of Timothy, seemed to be having the
very best of times.

She was far too happy herself to notice his unhappiness very much,
although she did fly over to him once or twice to beg him to behave and
stop being such an awful gloom. And she made him dance with her, one
single one-step; a rite which was performed by Timothy promptly at her
request, but in a stony silence on his part. When it was over, he
discovered that somebody had pre-empted his little corner, a very silly
couple were giggling foolishly in the spot which had been sacred to
sorrow all evening long; so he betook himself to the doorway into the
hall, and propped himself up against the jamb, where he continued his
unhappy observation of Arethusa's proceedings.

Ross watched him with amusement.

"It is woefully apparent," he remarked to Elinor, "just what is eating
our friend, Timothy."

He looked around for Mr. Bennet, and he found him dancing with Arethusa