think of--"

"Oh, it's settled, so don't discuss it. What! looking cross? Why, Grant
dear, I--I--did not think you would be offended."

"But I am, Elsie."

She dropped into a chair, pressed both hands to her side, and shrunk
away into a grieved, feeble little thing, that had been crushed by a
single blow.

"Why, Elsie!"

Her eyes filled with tears, and she covered them with both hands.

"I am not angry, child, only surprised."

"But you will be--you will be very angry when I tell you that some of
the invitations are sent out. Oh, I wish I were dead!"

Her lips quivered like those of a grieved and half-frightened child. Her
cheeks were wet, and their color had left them.

"Oh, Grantley, Grantley, don't--don't look at me in that way. Dear
Bessie, tell him how sorry I am."

Mellen was walking the floor in considerable agitation. He had hoped for
a little peace in his own home--a few days of tranquil confidence with
his wife. Now everything was broken in upon. There would be nothing but
confusion up to the very hour of his starting.

Elsie watched him furtively, and with sidelong glances. She knew how
terrible his anger was when once aroused.

"Oh, if my poor mother had lived."

"Peace, Elsie! I will not have that sacred name dragged into an affair
like this. Have your way, but remember it is the last time that you must
venture on the prerogatives of my wife."

Elsie left the room really frightened, and sobbing piteously, but the
moment she found herself in her boudoir a smile broke through her tears,
and she laughed out.

"Well, I don't care, we shall have the ball. I wonder if Bessie put him
up to that. Hateful thing, he never scolded me so before. Her
prerogatives, indeed."

As for Grantley Mellen, this untoward intrusion had broken up the happy
moment which might have given him an insight into all that his wife felt
and suffered. The interview which had promised such gentle confidence
only ended in mutual irritation.

CHAPTER XI.

THE BALL.

The evening of the ball arrived; the house was crowded, and for the
scores it was impossible to accommodate, Mellen had made arrangements in
his usual lavish way, for a conveyance back and forth in a steamer
chartered for the occasion.

The old house was a beautiful sight that evening. The long suite of
drawing-rooms were flung open, and in the far distance a noble
conservatory, half greenness, half crystal, terminated the view like
some South Sea