is time had returned to her side.

In another moment Paula came up on the arm of a black-whiskered
gentleman all shirt front and eye-glasses. "O Cicely," she cried, (she
called Miss Stuyvesant, Cicely now) "is it not a delightful evening?"

"Are you enjoying yourself so much?" inquired that somewhat agitated
little lady, with a glance at the countenance of her friend's attendant.

"I fear it would scarcely seem consistent in me now to say no," returned
the radiant girl, with a laughing glance towards the same gentleman.

But when they were alone, the gentleman having departed on some of the
innumerable errands with which ladies seem to delight in afflicting
their attendant cavaliers at balls or receptions, she atoned for that
glance by remarking,

"I do not find the average partner that falls to one's lot in such
receptions all that fancy paints." And then finding she had repeated a
phrase of Mr. Ensign's, blushed, though no one stood near her but
Cicely.

"Fancy's brush would need to be dipped in but two colors to present to
our eye the mass of them," was Cicely's laughing reply. "A streak of
black for the coat, and a daub of white for the shirt front. _Voila
tout._"

"With perhaps a dash of red in some cases," murmured a voice over their
shoulders.

They turned with hurried blushes. "Ah, Mr. Ensign," quoth Cicely in
unabashed gaiety, "we reserve red for the exceptions. We did not intend
to include our acknowledged friends in our somewhat sweeping assertion."

"Ah, I see, the black streak and the white daub are a symbol of,
'Er--Miss Stuyvesant--very warm this evening! Have an ice, do. _I_
always have an ice after dancing; so refreshing, you know.'"

The manner in which he imitated the usual languid drawl of certain of
the young scapegraces heretofore mentioned, was irresistible. Paula
forgot her confusion in her mirth.

"You are blessed with a capacity for playing both roles, I perceive,"
cried Cicely with unusual abandon. "Well, it is convenient, there is
nothing like scope."

"Unless it is hope," whispered Mr. Ensign so low that only Paula could
hear.

"But I warn you," continued Cicely, with a sweet soft laugh that seemed
to carry her heart far out into the passing throng, "that we have no
fondness for the model beau of the period. A dish of milk makes a very
good supper but it looks decidedly pale on the dinner table."

"Yes," said Paula, eying the various young men that filed up and down
before