The next morning sleep leaves Erma, driven away by the singing of the birds in the trees that front the hotel. A little time after, church bells come to her ears, and she is astonished, and then remembers that it is Sunday, and that there is a little Episcopal church on First South Street that has come there with the railroad, and is permitted to exist because United States troops are at Camp Douglas, just in the shadow of the mountains, over which the sun is rising, and whose snowtops look very cool and very pleasant here in the warmer valley, five thousand feet below them.

Coming down stairs to a nine o'clock breakfast, she encounters Ferdie and Louise at the table, for Mrs. Livingston and Oliver are later risers. Over the meal, Mr. Chauncey, who has not been to the theatre with them, but has been investigating the city, points out some of the notables who are seated about the dining-room. Then he begins to run on about what he has seen the evening before, telling them he has joined the Salt Lake Billiard Club and paid twenty-five cents initiation fee to register his name as a member of the club, in order to wield a cue, which registry is kept by pasting a few sheets of paper each day upon a roller, and has gradually rolled up until it has a diameter of five feet, and contains the names of every man who has ever played a game of billiards in Salt Lake City from the time Orson Pratt first spied out the valley; for the Mormon authorities have refused to license billiard tables, and a club was the only way in which they could be circumvented. Next the boy excitedly tells them that he has been introduced to a Mormon bishop in a barroom. At which Miss Livingston laughs: "He couldn't have been much of a bishop to have been there."

"Wasn't he!" rejoins Ferdie indignantly. "He has four wives, two pairs of sisters."

At which Louise gives an affrighted, "Oh!" and Miss Travenion says sternly, "No more Mormon stories, please," for Mr. Chauncey is about to run on about an apostle of the church who had married a mother and two daughters.

But now the party are joined by Mrs. Livingston and Oliver, and shortly after, the meal being finished, Mr. Livingston proposes church.

As it is a short distance, they go there on foot, the widow and Louise and Ferdie walking ahead and Mr. Livingston attaching himself to Erma and bringing up the rear.

As they walk up South Second Street and turn into East Temple, Miss Travenion, who has been listening to Ollie's conversation in a musingly indifferent way, suddenly brightens up and says, "Excuse me, please," and leaving him hastily, crosses the wide main street. A moment after, Livingston, to his astonishment, sees her in earnest conversation with Mr. Kruger.

This gentleman has turned from two or three square-jawed, full-lipped Mormon friends of his, to meet her. A complacent smile is on his red and sunburnt face, which lights up with a peculiar glance, half-triumph, half something else, as the girl, radiant in her beauty, addresses him.

"Well, Sissy, I am right glad you take the trouble to run over and see me this morning," he cries genially, trying to take her patricianly gloved hand in his.

"Mr. Kruger," she says shortly, "I fear the telegram I gave you did not reach my father. Have you heard anything of him? Do you know where he is?"

"Yes," replies the complaisant Lot. "I reckon he is in one of the outlying mining camps. If so, he won't be here for a day or two yit, though he has been communicated with."

"Oh!" ejaculates the girl; "then I shall be disappointed again?"

"Indeed! How?" says the man rather curiously, noting that the lovely blue eyes are teary as they look into his.

"I am going to the Episcopal Church. I had hoped to meet my father there."

"You expect—to meet your dad—thar?" gasps Kruger, as if the girl's information took away his breath.

"Yes, certainly! My father has been an Episcopalian all his life. I naturally expect to meet him at the Episcopal Church."

"Oh—your—father—has—been—an Episcopal—all his life," echoes Lot, apparently a little dazed. Then he goes on genially: "Wa-all, as you are certain of not seeing your dad among the Episcopals, perhaps you'd better go up this morning to our great Tabernacle, where President Young will make an address that'll learn you somethin'." He apparently now has no wish to conceal that he is a Latter-Day Saint.

"Thank you," replies the girl, with a little mocking smile. "I am an Episcopalian as well as my father," and she rejoins the wondering Ollie, who has by this time crossed the street; as she moves away with her escort, she thinks she hears a low chuckle from the genial Kruger.

Horror and rage would enter her, however, did she catch the remark of one of his companions: "Well, bishop, what do you think Mrs. Kruger Number Six would say to that, if she saw it? A new favorite in the household, eh?"

"Oh, no tellin'," rejoins Lot, his eyes following Miss Travenion's light form, as do likewise those of his companions, for the girl, robed as she is in the creation of some New York milliner, makes a picture of maiden loveliness seldom seen in the streets of Salt Lake City in 1871; Mormon women, as a rule, not being over fair to look upon, and the few Gentile ladies in that town being mostly married to gentlemen whose business has brought them to Utah.

"I am simply astonished, Erma," remarks Mr. Livingston, as they get out of ear-shot, "that knowing, as you know now, that this man is a Mormon, a polygamist, you even notice him, much less address him on the public streets."

"I merely asked him where my father was," replies the girl rather haughtily. "I would ask any man that—to get one minute nearer my dear papa."

Then she walks silently by his side; Oliver sporadically attempting to keep up the conversation, until they arrive at the pretty little Episcopal church on First South Street, where they get such an edifying sermon from Bishop Tuttle, who is assisted by the Rev. Mr. Kirby in the service, that Mr. Livingston is quite delighted.

"Who would have thought it! They even have altar-boys out here. I shall leave my card on the Bishop at once," he remarks, as the congregation is dismissed.

"Why not see him immediately?" suggests Miss Travenion; which they do, and she has an opportunity of asking the Right Reverend Mr. Tuttle if her father, Mr. Ralph Travenion, is not one of his communicants, and is much surprised and disappointed to learn that the Bishop has never heard of the gentleman she names.

Returning from church, after dinner Ferdie, who is anxious, as he expresses it, to see Mormonism in its glory, induces them to go to afternoon services in the Tabernacle. Under its vast dome, many thousands of the elect of Utah listen to a discourse from one high up in the Mormon priesthood, who tells them that women who bear not children are accursed, and goes so into the details of the "Breeding of the Righteous," that Mrs. Livingston whispers to Louise and Erma to close their ears, and goes out of the place to the pealing of its great organ and the singing of its vast choir, feeling a loathing horror of these Saints of Latter Days.

As for Ferdie, he remarks, "Isn't this a Tower of Babel crowd?" for it is Conference time, and Northern Utah has sent its Swedes and Scandinavians, and Southern Utah its Huns and Bohemians, and there are Welsh from Spanish Fork, and Cornish men from Springville, and all are jabbering in their native tongues, English being less heard than the others; and the men have, generally, red faces, scaly from weather exposure, and the women have often a hopeless look in their eyes, and the children are mostly tow-headed in this Mormon Conference crowd of 1871.

After a time the Livingstons get to their carriage and drive up to Camp Douglas, to the dress parade which takes place every Sunday, having been invited there by Captain Ellison, of the Thirteenth Infantry, who has been introduced to Louise the evening before, and has been very much caught by her piquant graces. Then, the parade being dismissed, this gentleman brings up several of his brother officers to the Livingstons' carriage, and introduces Lamar, a dandy, dashing lieutenant fresh from West Point, and Johnson, of the Fifth Cavalry, and several other of his brother officers, and these, looking for the first time upon the New York beauties as they sit in their carriage, offer them a hundred pleasant excursions and courtesies; all insisting that the whole party must come to Mr. Bussey's ball, as it will be a great affair in Salt Lake society, both Mormon and Gentile; for the banker aims for popularity, and has invited every one in the city who has a bank account or has any chance of having one.

Then they drive away, and looking at the stars and stripes which float from the flag-staff of this camp bristling with cannon and Gatling guns—for Douglas, in those days, was held rather in the manner of a beleaguered fortress than in the easy method of a local garrison—the girl cannot help contrasting the columns of blue infantry she has just seen, and the vast and motley assemblage of men in the Tabernacle, who, at the word of their president, would turn upon and assault this camp and make war upon these United States of America. For the danger of Mormonism has been and will be, not in the feeling of animosity that its masses hold to this government, for they have but little, but in their blind, unthinking allegiance to a power they hold superior to it—that of their priesthood and the officers of their Church.

Then they come down the hill into the city again for supper at the Townsend House, which takes place in the evening, dinner in that primitive country being the midday meal. Finishing this, they are called upon by Mrs. Bussey, who insists upon their not omitting her ball.

During her visit she introduces to the Livingstons a number of Gentile ladies in the hotel and a few of the gentlemen engaged in speculation in the neighboring mines, who are quartered at the house, and they pass a quiet evening in the parlor, in conversation with their new-made acquaintances, whom Miss Travenion charms with a song or two.

These are mostly plaintive melodies, for thoughts of her father will run in the girl's brain and somehow make her sad. Being full of the subject now, she questions the mining operators that she meets if they know Ralph Travenion, and receives the usual answer that they have never heard of him; and her anxiety for tidings of him increases and would now be desperate, did not a few words she catches from one mining operator to another set her thinking of the man who has gone to Tintic.

"I am afraid Harry Lawrence has a hard row to hoe," remarks Jackson of the Bully Boy to Thomas of the Neptune. "He has got Tranyon and the Mormons against him. They will stop his sale to the English company if they do not get a goodly portion of his Mineral Hill."

"He has got one chance, however," says the other.

"Indeed! What is that?"

"Why, don't you know," replies Thomas of the Neptune, "that the prophet up there," he nods his head in the direction of Brigham Young's private residence, "and some of the other leaders of the Church are beginning to be afraid of Tranyon?"

"Afraid of his business talents?" asks the other. "He has got plenty of them."

"No, afraid of his steadfastness in the faith of Joe Smith; afraid that he will refuse to pay his tithing!" laughs Thomas. "They say he made a million last year, and he hates to give up a hundred thousand to the Church." Then he adds very seriously: "Godby has gone back on them, and the Walkers are no more to be relied upon for Church dues, and this time they feel they cannot stand another apostasy, and will take desperate measures to stop it."

"Who knows but Tranyon some day may feel the fist of the Church upon him as heavy as it fell on the Morrisites?" says Jackson, lowering his voice to a whisper, and, in spite of herself, the girl, as she listens, cannot help wishing that the hand of the Mormon Church may smite this Tranyon, if it will be any aid to Harry Lawrence.

But the evening passes, and next day Erma getting to thinking of her father again, it suddenly occurs to her to look in the directory, which she does, but there is no Travenion in its list of names.

The latter part of this day, which is a long one to her, she kills by a drive with Mrs. Livingston and Oliver to the Sulphur Springs, where they enjoy the baths. Mr. Livingston, as they return home, remarking on the softness the sulphur water has given to Erma's hands, would become very attentive and amatory and lover-like, did the girl but let him; but this serves to take her thoughts from that subject they will dwell on, though she says, "To-morrow papa must come, and he shall take me in the evening to Mr. Bussey's ball."

And the morrow does come, but with it no father, and the girl turns for forgetfulness to making her preparations for the evening fÊte. Once or twice, however, she grows disheartened and mutters, "I cannot go. Dancing to-night would be a mockery," then suddenly cries to her maid, "The finest ball dress in my trunk,—the light blue one that I have never worn,—the one I was going to keep for San Francisco."

A second after she directs Marie to get out what jewels she is carrying with her, and murmurs to herself, "I must look my best to-night," for Miss Volatile has suddenly remembered that three days have elapsed and Harry Lawrence may be at the fÊte this evening.

So, when the soft October night settles down upon the city, Mrs. Livingston is astonished to find her charge in excited mood.

"My, how you will delight Oliver," babbles the widow, gazing in admiration at the light, graceful beauty of the young girl as she steps forth ready for the Bussey soirÉe dansante; and she does delight Oliver, who very attentively cloaks her from the evening air, which is growing cool as the autumn progresses in this valley. Then Mrs. Livingston and Erma and Louise, who is robed in some white, float-away dress and already engaged for dances six deep, as she expresses it, to some of the Gentile gentlemen in the hotel, accompanied by Mr. Oliver, take carriage for the banker's ball.

Ferdie, the night being fine and the distance short, says he will walk, which he does in company with Lamar of the Thirteenth Infantry, and Jackson of the Bully Boy, the two latter smoking huge cigars, and Mr. Chauncey affecting the more youthful cigarette.

At the portals of the banking-house a string of carriages is depositing most of the Gentile magnates, and some of the Mormon, though the Latter-Day Saints do not, as a rule, circulate very freely in outside society, their elders fearing the influence of the Gentile youth upon the maidens of Zion, as to marriage and giving in marriage.

The third story of the building has been arranged with a view of letting it for public balls, and Mr. Bussey is utilizing it for his private one this evening. Here, in the large dancing room, the Livingstons and Miss Travenion are received by the hospitable banker and his wife, who are shaking hands with the stream of guests now pouring into the ball-room, and making it look quite bright, though very much diversified. Costumes that would grace a Newport fÊte or Parisian ball-room alternate with the horrors of Mormon modiste invention, which is, like the country, crude. These atrocities of toilet are mostly worn by some pretty Mormon girls, who have persuaded their fathers, who are connected with the Zion's Co-operative stores or other Deseret industries, to bring them to this conglomerate ball; their escorts mostly being arrayed in the ample black broadcloth long-tailed frock coats that are considered the proper thing in mining camps and in extreme frontier society.

But as these latter dance with much athletic vigor and Western abandon, they add greatly to the life of the scene. The room is decorated with flags borrowed from Camp Douglas, its large rear windows opening onto a broad balcony, which has been made conservatory-like by flowering plants, and lighted by Chinese lanterns. Here Mr. Dames and his band play the "Blue Danube," which has just become popular, and other modern waltzes interspersed with old Mormon quadrille tunes, some of which were composed, Ferdie remarks, "before the Ark," for this gentleman has just come in, apparently very merry.

"Look and see if Kruger is not changed," he whispers into Erma's delicate ear.

"Why? He does look different. What has he been doing?" answers Miss Travenion.

"He has been getting his hair cut, gratis," giggles Ferdie; "likewise his beard trimmed and his hair shampooed. You see, Bussey, with Western hospitality, has furnished three barbers for the use of his guests, and Kruger, as he remarks, has just been going 'the whole hog.' He would have taken a bath if there had been conveniences in the gentlemen's waiting-room," continues Mr. Chauncey, greatly amused.

"He looks very happy over it," laughs Erma; for Kruger's countenance seems quite bland and genial this evening. His black broadcloth frock coat has been very well brushed, and his shirt front is apparently more ample and crumpled than ever, while his large boots have been very brightly shined by the bootblack on the corner opposite, and his gray eyes, as they roam over the ball-room, have an expression of triumph in them, though they apparently seek only one object. Meeting that, Lot Kruger gives a start, for they rest on Erma Travenion.

Then his orbs grow watery and his thick lips tremble, and his jaws clench themselves, as he thinks, "If it should come to me,—all this; for the glory of the Church of the Latter-Day Saints."

For, robed in some creation of Worth that has been imported to America to make her seem a fairy, Erma's beauty is of the air not of the earth. It is some light, gauzy, shimmering, gleaming thing, covered with tiny pink rosebuds,—thousands of them,—and floats about the girl's dazzling shoulders and gleaming neck and snowy maiden bosom, which is of such exquisite proportions and contours that it would make a sculptor's dream and an average man's ecstasy.

While over all this is a face beaming with some expectant joy, its blue eyes looking for somebody,—somebody who has not yet come.

For a moment Kruger steps forward, as if he would speak to her, but just then Mr. Oliver carries the young lady away to the dance, and sinking upon a seat, the Mormon follows Miss Beauty with his eyes everywhere she moves.

Unheeding the remark that Counsellor Smith, of the Seventies, makes to him, that his last Mrs. Smith is anxious to hear of his trip to the States, and that his (Smith's) daughters, by his first and second wives, Birdie and Desie, are quite ready for a dance, Lot drinks in the girl's loveliness as if it were new wine of such rare bouquet and wondrous flavor that he cannot take the goblet from his lips—wine upon which he will finally get drunk, perchance to his own undoing.

And the eyes of other men follow his also, for there is only one woman who approaches Erma's charm or grace that evening, and that is a young grass-widow from California, at present making a six months' sojourn in Salt Lake for the purpose of obtaining a divorce—a thing easily found in the United States courts in Utah at this time.

But all the time the girl seems languid; and Ollie, dancing with her, notices that the lightness has left her step, and she seems to dream; which, indeed, she does, thinking of a ball during the season in New York, to which her father on his last visit had taken her, and remembering how the old beau, bon-vivant and club man had enjoyed meeting his former friends, companions and chums of other days, also the belles of the last decade of Manhattan society, whom he had greeted again as matrons and dowagers, and she murmurs to herself: "How happy I would be if papa were by me now as he was then."

But at this moment Mr. Livingston starts, and wonders what change has come into Erma Travenion, for suddenly new life and vigor seem to enter the lithe waist his arm encircles; her cheek, before a little pale, becomes blushing as he gazes on it; and her eyes, which were downcast, grow bright and radiant, and her step, which was languid, becomes light as a sylph's.

Then he follows Erma's eyes, and sees the stalwart form of Harry Lawrence standing in the door, and looking just about the same as when he first entered Mrs. Livingston's supper party at Delmonico's; and Ollie says to himself, a second time in his life, the awful word, "Damn!"

A moment after the music ceases, and Captain Lawrence is by the girl's side, and their hands clasp; their eyes have already greeted.

"I have driven seventy-five miles to-day," he says eagerly. "Am I in time to have a dance with you?"

"Seventy-five miles," replies Erma. "Then you must be very tired."

"Not tired till I have a dance with you. Can I look at your programme?"

"Certainly," and she hands it to him.

But glancing at it, the young man remarks gloomily: "There is no vacant spot."

"No vacant spot but plenty of crosses. Take up your cross and follow me!" laughs Miss Travenion. Then she explains, "I always reserve a few dances by crosses for friends who come late," and something gets into her eyes which makes Lawrence very ardent and very bold.

So bold that, being borne away to another dance by Ferdie, Erma looks at her card and suddenly whispers, "Why, he has taken up all my crosses," but though implored by a number of gentlemen who come up afterwards to erase some one of the many H. L.'s marked upon her programme, she shakes her head resolutely and says, "No, I stick to my written contracts," much to the disgust of Ellison of the Thirteenth Infantry, and Lamar, the dashing lieutenant, and Jackson of the Bully Boy.

So, a few moments after, Lawrence coming up for his first dance, she takes his arm more happily than she has ever done, to tread a measure; though she has been the belle of many Delmonico balls and has floated about on the arms of the best cotillion leaders of New York and Boston.

A moment after, Harry Lawrence, who has lived his life in camps or on the frontier, puts his arm around this beauty of Manhattan society, and for the first time feels her heart beat against his. Then perhaps something more potent than the strains of the "Thousand and One Nights of Strauss" getting into his head, he dances with all his soul. Not perhaps in so deft a way as Ferdie, who is past master of the art, and glides the graceful Louise through the room in poetic motion, nor in the dashing manner of Lamar, fresh from cadet german and Mess Hall hops, with the California widow, but still with so powerful an arm that his partner feels confidence in him, and perhaps some emotion coming into her heart other than the mere pleasure of the dance; a very bright blush is on her cheek as they stop.

"Your step suits mine very well. You dance very nicely," she murmurs.

"Yes, for a man who has not tripped the light fantastic for years," replies the captain. Then he goes on, "But who couldn't dance with you?"

"Oh, many men, I imagine," laughs the girl. "That gentleman there, for instance," and following her eyes, Lawrence sees Lot Kruger with a very red face, damp from over-exertion, circling the room with a Mormon lady, the speed of a locomotive in his limbs and the vigor of a buffalo of the plains in his feet, bringing dismay and confusion to surrounding flounces and feminine trains wherever he goes.

Then his face grows dark.

"Don't speak of him!" he replies gloomily. "Let me throw off business for one night and be happy."

Which he does, dancing with Erma so often that Ollie becomes very sulky, and Mrs. Livingston feels it necessary to play the chaperon, which she does very deftly, mentioning to her charge that people are talking about her dancing continually with one gentleman.

"Oh," answers the young lady. "What does it matter in this town, where we shall remain but a day or two? Were it New York it might be different." Then she continues rather maliciously, "Besides, I rather like it. It makes Oliver so sulky."

Just here, however, a practical joke of Mr. Chauncey's drives all else out of the widow's head. That gentleman approaches, bearing on either arm two quite young and rather pretty women, one apparently American, the other with the light hair and blond eyes of a Scandinavian, and presents them with considerable impressment and form as the two Misses Tranyon; very shortly after taking off one of the young ladies he has introduced to tread a measure.

"Ah," remarks Mrs. Livingston to the one left behind, "I hope that you and your sister are enjoying yourselves this evening."

"My sister?" giggles the lady, astonished.

"Of course! Mr. Chauncey introduced you and your sister as the two Misses Tranyon."

"Oh, I see. The Missus Tranyon fooled you!" replies the catechized one with a grin. "I am Mrs. Tranyon Number One, and Christine's Mrs. Tranyon Number Two," and is astounded to see Mrs. Livingston grow pale and fly from her, muttering faintly, "Help!"

But the explanation of the Mormon lady has so horrified the widow that she forgets all about Oliver and his jealousy, and makes an immediate attempt to take her charges home even before supper. But they will not go; for Louise is enjoying herself very greatly, and Ferdie has struck up a flirtation with the prettiest Mormon girl in the room, and is asking her with pathos in his voice how she thinks she would enjoy living in New York.

"Quite well," answers that young lady. Then she giggles with the simplicity peculiar to the maidens of Deseret:

"Ain't you already married to that fair-haired blonde you are dancing with so much? Have you explained to her I am to be her sister?"—a proposition that so startles Mr. Chauncey that he dodges the Mormon maiden for the rest of the evening.

As for Erma, to Mrs. Livingston's suggestion that they leave the ball at once, she replies shortly, "What! and break all my engagements?" omitting, however, to state that most of them are to Captain Lawrence, and continues dancing with this gentleman, to the rage of Mr. Oliver, who goes to sulking and leaves her alone.

Mr. Kruger also noticing the same, thinks to himself, "Time for Lot to put his oar in." He has already greeted Miss Travenion at odd times when he has passed with affable nods and "How do's?" and "Having a good time, Sissy?" and such expressions of interest.

He now comes to her and says, stroking his newly cut beard, "What do you promise me, Miss Ermie, if I bring you and your daddy together to-morrow?"

"Anything," replies the girl, excitedly.

"Very well; you shall see Pop to-morrow, for one dance this evening."

"Why, my programme is already full," demurs Miss Travenion.

"Well, steal one for me. Perhaps that Lawrence chap could spare one. Reckon he's down on your card a few times more," he guffaws.

"Very well," says the girl hurriedly. "Take the Virginia reel," for she is desperately afraid of dancing a waltz with the athletic Lot, whose feet must go somewhere and have very little respect for the toes of his partner. Then she adds: "But remember, if I keep my promise this evening, you will keep yours to-morrow?"

"Oh, sure as boys like to kiss," cries Lot merrily. This compels an explanation to Captain Lawrence, which is not received very well, that gentleman growing Hector-like and muttering, "So you rob me for the benefit of one of my enemies?"

"One of your enemies?"

"Yes, this man Kruger is part owner in the Mormon company that is fighting for my mine,—he and that villain Tranyon," he explains, "and you dance with him?"

"Why not," says the girl, growing haughty. "Have I not been generous to you this evening?" Then she pouts, "You've had all my dances. What more do you want?"

"Supper!" cries Harry decidedly.

"Supper? Of course I want some also," laughs Miss Travenion merrily. "It's going on now," and she places her fingers on Lawrence's arm, though she is very well aware that the privilege of escorting her to midnight refreshment will be considered by Ollie as his "very own." But Erma is just tasting of the fruit called "first love," and will eat it, though it cost her as much as the apple did Mother Eve.

So, seated in a shady nook made by two flowering shrubs on the balcony, she watches and admires the athletic figure of the gentleman she has made her hero ever since she saw him save Ferdie's life, as he forages for her. This he does with as much vigor as one of Sherman's bummers on the March to the Sea, and with such a curious knowledge of her tastes that the girl wonders how he guesses all her pet dainties,—not knowing that the gentleman now her escort had had his eyes upon her during every meal she had taken between Omaha and Ogden.

"Why, this is marvellous—just what I wanted. How did you guess?" laughs the young lady as he places his spoils before her, and the two sit down together to make a very quiet but delightfully tÊte-À-tÊte meal, strains of music coming faintly to them, and the Chinese lanterns throwing but little light upon them.

Then their conversation, which is becoming low and confidential, is suddenly broken in upon by Mr. Livingston, who approaches, saying with a savage tone in his usually placid voice, "Erma, I've been looking for you everywhere. Mother has been waiting to take you to supper with us for an hour!"

"Thanks to Captain Lawrence," replies Miss Travenion, who likes this gentleman's tone little, but his interruption less, "I am already very well provided for."

"Ah—with both supper and flirtation," laughs Oliver sneeringly.

"Not at all," cries the young lady. "A flirtation is where they say a great deal more than they mean."

"But here," interjects Lawrence, whose heart is very full of the loveliness upon which he gazes with all his might, "I mean a great deal more than I have said." This remark, emphasized by a very telling glance of his dark eyes, brings furious blushes upon Erma and consternation upon Oliver, who loses his head and gasps, "Why, it is almost a declaration!"

"Would you like me to make it stronger?" asks Harry quite pointedly, his remark to the gentleman, but his eyes upon the lady.

But women in these social crises have generally more savoir faire than men. Miss Travenion says coolly, "I fear we must postpone this jeu d'esprit. I see Mr. Kruger looking for me. The Virginia reel is beginning. Mr. Livingston, will you take me to him?"

So, meeting the Mormon bishop, he demands his dance, and the music playing its most lively jig, Erma sees such high kicks, such double shuffles, and such gymnastic graces from Lot, who, being anxious to make a display before his partner, dances with the vigor of a Mormon boy of twenty, that she does her share of the lively contra-dance betwixt spasms of laughter.

This display rather amuses Lawrence, who comes to her at the close and says, "You were right in choosing your partner, Miss Travenion. I yield the palm to him in cutting pigeon wings." Then he goes on sullenly, "There are two of the wives of my enemy Tranyon," and laughs a little unpleasantly, sneering, "I suppose he's got so large a family he has to obtain other men's goods to keep them all."

"Oh, no doubt," whispers Ferdie. "I imagine from his possessions Tranyon must have a dozen or so. He has only been a Mormon eight or nine years, I hear. It must be awful curious to live a life of continual orange blossoms."

Then he goes on. "The beauty of the Mormon part of this ball is that the married men are all eligible for matrimony. The girls need fear no one is not serious in his attentions. Every man goes!"

"Stop making such jokes," cries Erma, sternly. Then she continues, "It's time to go home. Good-night, Captain Lawrence," and going into the dressing-room, she gazes meditatively at the two Mormon ladies, wondering what such a life as theirs can be.

The dark one—the American—she notes is a woman of more decided character than the Swedish Christine, though neither seems to be over-well educated or intelligent. Then she thinks, "What a wretch that Tranyon must be! He is robbing Harry to put gewgaws upon these women!" for both are dressed much more expensively and in better taste than is usual with Mormon women, even the wives of their apostles and rulers.

From this musing she is suddenly awakened by voices outside the dressing-room.

Ollie is remarking, "As Miss Travenion's guardian, I must insist upon escorting her to her carriage."

"Her guardian?" This is in Harry's tones. "Who made you such?"

"Her father!"

"What?"

"Certainly, her father," continues Oliver's soft voice. "He has constituted me her guardian until she becomes my wife—next winter."

This easy falsehood makes Erma at first frightened, then angry, and a minute after, coming forth cloaked and hooded, she meets Mr. Livingston, Captain Lawrence having apparently gone away.

"Mother is waiting," he whispers, and takes her down.

But on the sidewalk outside she sees Harry standing despondently, and striding up to him, gives him words that make him happy once more.

"To-morrow at two I wish to see you," she whispers, then laughs lightly, "Fairy stories for girls; men don't believe them!"

With this she steps into her carriage, and whispers to Livingston: "Don't dare to tell any more of your fibs about me!" for she is angry with herself now, and cogitates: "What will that man think of me? I have done an unmaidenly thing, and that immaculate gentleman opposite me, gossiping so easily with his mother and Louise, made me do it."