myself aggrieved indeed."

"Was there ever so silly a young man?" thinks Monica, and then she says
aloud, "No, it is not promised," and lets him place his arm round her,
and reluctantly mingles with the other dancers. To do him justice, he
waltzed very well, this fat young marine, so it cannot be said that she
has altogether a bad time, and she certainly feels a little glow of
pleasure as she pauses presently to recover her breath.

As she does so, her eyes rest on Desmond. He, too, is dancing, and with
Olga Bohun. He is whispering to his partner, who is whispering back to
him in a somewhat pronounced fashion, and altogether he is looking
radiantly happy, and anything but the disconsolate swain Monica has been
picturing him to herself. He is smiling down at Olga, and is apparently
murmuring all sorts of pretty things into her still prettier ear,
because they both look quite at peace with each other and all the world.

A pang shoots through Monica's heart. He can be as happy, then, with one
pretty woman as with another! She by no means, you will see, depreciates
her own charms. All he wants is to have "t'other dear charmer away."

At this moment she encounters his eyes, and answers his glad stare of
surprise with a little scornful lowering of her lids. After which, being
fully aware that he is still watching her in hurt amazement, she turns a
small, pale, but very encouraging face up to Ryde, and says, prettily,--

"You said I was late, just now. Was I?"

"Very. At least it seemed so to me," says Ryde with heavy adoration in
his glance.

Feeling, rather than seeing, that Mr. Desmond has brought his fair
companion to an anchor close behind her, Monica says, in a soft sweet
voice,--

"I didn't _mean_ to be late. No, indeed! I hurried all I could; but my
aunts are slow to move. I was _longing_ to be here, but they would make
no haste."

"You _really_ longed to be here?" asks he, eagerly. "Well, that _was_
good of you! And now you have come you will be kind to me, won't you?
You will give me all the dances you can spare?"

"That would be a great many," says she, laughing a little. "You might
tire of me if I said yes to that. The fact is, I know nobody here, and
_certainly_ there is no one I care to dance with."

"You will have another tale to tell later on," returns he, gazing with
unrepressed admiration at her charming face. "Before the avalanche of
worshippers descends, promise me all the waltzes."

"Are my