s the room, through the
dancers and beyond; and in her eyes was the deepest look of sadness
Pinckney had ever seen in a girl's face; a look such as he had thought
no girl could feel. A moment after, and it was gone, as some one spoke
to her; and Pinckney wondered if he had not been mistaken, so fleeting
was it, and so strange. An acquaintance--one of those men who delight
to act as brokers of acquaintances--who had noticed his gaze came up.
"That is the famous Miss Mary Warfield," said he. "Shall I not
introduce you?"

"No," said Pinckney; and he turned away rudely. To be rude when you
like is perhaps one of the choicest prerogatives of a good social
position. The acquaintance stared after him, as he went back to Miss
Austin, and then went up and spoke to Miss Warfield himself. A moment
after, Pinckney saw her look over at him with some interest; and he
wondered if the man had been ass enough to tell her. Pinckney was
sitting withlimily Austin; and, after another moment, he saw Miss
Warfield look at her. Then her glance seemed to lose its interest; her
eyelids drooped, and Pinckney could see, from her interlocutor's
mantief^ that he was put to his trumps to keep her attention. At last
he got away, awkwardly; and for many minutes the strange girl sat like
a statue, her long lashes just veiling her eyes, so that Pinckney, from
a distance, could not see what was in them. Suddenly the veil was drawn
and her eyes shone full upon him, her look meeting his. Pinckney's
glance fell, and his cheeks grew redder. Miss Warfield's face did not
change, but she rose and walked unattended through the centre of the
ballroom to the door. Pinckney's seat was nearer it than hers; she
passed him as if without seeing him, moving with unconscious grace,
though it would not have been the custom at that time for a girl to
cross so large a room alone. Just then some one asked Miss Austin for a
dance; and Pinckney, who was growing weary of it, went out on the
piazza for a cigar, and then, attracted by the beauty of the night,
strayed further than he knew, alone, along the cliffs above the sea.

The next day he was walking with Miss Austin, and they passed her, in
her riding habit, waiting by the mounting stone; she bowed to Miss
Austin alone, leaving him out, as it seemed to Pinckney, with
exaggerated care.

"Is she not beautiful?" said Emily, ardently.

"Humph!" said Pinckney. A short time after, as they were driving on the
road to the Fort,