se
increasing. "You don't mean to say you know Rose Wainwright?"

"Yes, I know her. I spent an evening at the house nearly two weeks ago,
and played backgammon with her."

"I never heard the like. Have any bootblacks been invited?"

"I don't know. The young lady didn't tell me who were coming."

"Take my advice and don't go."

"Why not?"

"You will be about as much at home at a fashionable party as a cat
would be at the opera."

"But I have accepted the invitation."

"That won't matter. You can write a note tomorrow saying that you
thought it wiser to stay away."

"Besides there is another objection."

"What is that?"

"Rose expects me to dance with her."

"You dance!"

"Certainly, why not?"

"I begin to think you are crazy, Fred Fenton."

"I don't see why."

"Of course you can't dance."

"Of course I can. I am a pupil of Professor Saville. But I must bid you
good evening, as it is time I was at the party."

Raymond gazed after Fred as he walked toward the scene of the evening's
enjoyment with corrugated brows.

"I never heard of anything more ridiculous," he muttered. "It's like a
beggar on horseback. Think of a poor boy like Fred figuring at Rose
Wainwright's party. It is disgusting."

Fred would not have had his share of human nature if he had not enjoyed
the discomfiture of his haughty cousin.

"He thinks this world was made for him," he said to himself. "There
would be no place for me in it if he had his will."

The broker's house was blazing with light, and already many of the
young guests had arrived. Plants and flowers were to be seen in
profusion, and the mansion wore a holiday look. Fred was dazzled, but
did not allow himself to appear ill at ease.

"Second floor back," said the servant who admitted him.

Fred went up-stairs and arranged his toilet in the room appropriated to
gentlemen. Three or four other boys were present, but he knew no one.
With one of these, an attractive boy of his own age, Fred stumbled into
acquaintance, and they went downstairs together.

"Come with me." said the other boy, "we will pay our respects to Rose
together."

Fred was glad to have some one take him in tow, and said so, adding,
"Won't you tell me your name?"

"My name is George Swain. I am a Columbia schoolboy."

"And mine, Fred Fenton. I am in Mr. Wainwright's office."

Rose greeted both boys cordially. She glanced approvingly at Fred's
dress. She had been a little uncertain whether he