icable
part of a double-dealer and a deceiver, to be able to feel that she
had been worthy of Jerome though never his.

Thus Mell felt when she stretched her weary limbs on that silken couch
of ease in the dim morning light, and turned her face to the wall, and
closed her eyes, and thought of that exquisite moment, when from
Jerome's shoulder, conventionally used, she had proffered to him the
olive branch of peace and had caught the heavenly beams of that smile
which restored her to his favor. With the bewitchment of this smile
reflected upon the fair lineaments of her own face, Mell fell into
that sweet rest, which remains even for the people who flirt.

But how different everything always seems the day after the ball!

It must be the gas-light in the ball-room, it must be the sunlight in
the day-time, which makes all the difference. Sunlight is the
effulgence of a God, and lights up Reality; gas-light is a ray kindled
by the feeble hand of man to brighten the unreal--a delusion and a
snare.

The absurd fancies of a ball-room hide their fantastic fumes in the
broad daylight.

Coming down to a six o'clock dinner--finding Rube at the bottom of
the stairs to attend upon her--finding the assembled company,
including the Honorable Archibald, half-famished and yet kept
waiting for their dinner, until the future mistress of the Bigge
House put in an appearance, Mell began more clearly to estimate her
own importance--her own, but through Rube. Her beauty, her wit,
they were her own; but they had availed her little before her
betrothment to Rube. Especially was she impressed with this aspect of
the case, when, hanging upon his arm, she entered the brilliant
drawing-room to become immediately the bright particular star of the
social heavens, the cynosure of all eyes; to be immediately
surrounded by flattering sycophants; to be pelted with well-bred
raillery for her tardiness and sleepy-headedness; to be bowed down
to and reverenced and waited upon and courted and admired by these
high-born people--she, old Jacob Creecy's daughter, but the future
wife of the young master of this lordly domain.

And Jerome expected her to give all this up--did he? And to give it up
whether he gave up Clara, or not? Jerome was simply crazy--and she
would be a good deal crazier herself before he caught her doing it!
Mell still has an eye to the main chance. Mell still "tuck arter her
ole daddy!"

* * * *