opportunity of appearing, for the first time
since Sir Oswald's death, _en grande toilette_. She wore a dress of blue
brocade, a marvel of color and weaving, embroidered with flowers, the
very delicacy of which seemed to attract notice. She wore the Darrell
diamonds, her golden head being wreathed with a tiara of precious
stones. She looked marvelously bright and radiant; her face was flushed
with the most delicate bloom, her eyes were bright with happiness. The
guests remarked to each other how lovely their young hostess was.

But when Pauline entered the room, Lady Darrell was eclipsed, even as
the light of the stars is eclipsed by that of the sun. Pauline wore no
jewels; the grand beauty of her face and figure required none. The
exquisite head and graceful, arched neck rose from the clouds of gray
tulle like some superb flower from the shade of its leaves; her dress
was low, showing the white neck and statuesque shoulders; the dark,
clustering hair was drawn back from the noble brow, a pomegranate
blossom glowing in the thick coils. Graceful and dignified she looked,
without glitter of jewels or dress--simple, perfect in the grandeur of
her own loveliness.

She was greatly admired; young men gazed at her from a distance with an
expression almost of infatuation, while the ladies whispered about her;
yet no one had the courage to pay her any great attention, from the
simple fact that Lady Hampton had insinuated that the young widow did
not care much about Miss Darrell. Some felt ill at ease in her presence;
her proud, dark eyes seemed to detect every little false grace and
affectation, all paltry little insincerities seemed to be revealed to
her.

Yet Pauline on this occasion did her best. Despite Sir Oswald's false
judgment of her, there was an innate refinement about her, and it showed
itself to-night. She talked principally to old Lady Percival, who had
known her mother, and who professed and really felt the most profound
liking and affection for Pauline; they talked during dinner and after
dinner, and then, seeing that every one was engaged, and that no one was
likely to miss her, Pauline slipped from the room and went out.

She gave a long sigh of relief as she stood under the broad, free sky;
flowers and birds, sunshine and shade, the cool, fragrant gloaming, were
all so much more beautiful, so much more to her taste, than the warm,
glittering rooms. In the woods a nightingale was singing. What music
could be