Mrs. Villars returned from the ball full of triumphant feelings. Never, since her first appearance at the rooms, had Caroline appeared to such advantage. Hargrave, who seldom did more than walk through a quadrille, had twice asked her to waltz. Mrs. Villars had received, with gracious smiles, many premature congratulations—and her husband, who had despaired of Caroline's marriage, looked on with satisfaction, and began to think everything was taking a brighter turn.

The next morning, Mrs. Villars overwhelmed Mabel with thanks for her ingenuity—and even, in the excess of her gratitude, confided to her a long and exaggerated account of the ball, mixed with many speculations on the probable causes which led Hargrave to delay his proposals. She ended by announcing her intention, (if she did not consider it hurtful to her feelings,) of giving a grand rout the following week.

Mabel begged her not to think of her, as she could easily, if she preferred doing so, spend the evening alone. Her aunt was, however, bent on displaying herself as her benefactress, though she thought it better to be contented, at first, with getting no opposition to her plan.

Invitations were soon issued. Colonel Hargrave was persuaded to give up a hunting party he had intended joining, and even to discuss the numerous arrangements, of which none but good entertainers can appreciate the difficulty. The music, the dances, the company, the decorations of the rooms, were all thoroughly talked over, and everything promised to make it the most popular party of the Bath season.

The girls were in high spirits, and congratulated themselves on Hargrave's continued good humour.

Selina declared he must have made up his mind, at last, and anticipated looking pretty on a Shetland pony, at Aston, while Maria declared that she had nearly "hooked" a Gloucestershire squire, and hoped Caroline would give her an opportunity of landing him.

On the morning of the party, Mabel was sitting in the library alone, finishing some ornaments for the wax tapers, which her aunt had requested her to make. Mr. Villars was gone to put a letter to a London publisher in the post—and finding herself alone, she had given herself up to thoughts of her mother and Amy—that dear sister, whose life she had hoped to see so much happier than her own—then came to her memory, which was well stored with every antidote to discontent, those beautiful lines of Milman—

And these told her how Amy's artless love had beguiled her first disappointment of its bitterness, and called her to exert her energies in a life of activity.

As she continued this more cheerful train of thought, she heard a step in the passage, whose echo thrilled to her very heart. How often had she sprung at that signal in all the buoyancy of unchecked love; cold and dark had been the change—the elastic step was now firm and majestic, and she listened to it with attempted indifference, for they had learnt to meet as strangers.

Colonel Hargrave entered, and instead of leaving the room, as he now always did, when he found her alone, he walked up to the fire, and stood looking at her, for a moment, as her varying color made her face look something more than beautiful.

"I have a request to make," he said, at length.

"One that I can grant, I hope," said Mabel; for the silence broken, her courage was at once restored.

"I would ask you to do violence to your own feelings, and appear at the dance to-night?"

"Why need I appear in a circle, where, being unknown, I cannot be missed, when I feel naturally disinclined for gaiety?"

"Because your influence is needed there. Do not think I am frivolous enough to believe, that the admiration you may possibly excite, would give you any compensation for the pain of appearing in that mourning dress, amongst the light and gay; but there is one over whom you seemed once to have some influence, who must be there, and you will have an opportunity of seeing her in society."

"Do you mean Lucy?"

"Yes—I have watched her narrowly, for some time, and think she may be made something better under proper guidance. Where is she to find that but in you? She is now attracted by a man, whose attentions are, I fear, too general to mean anything."

"Are you certain Mr. Beauclerc means nothing?" said Mabel, incredulously; "it is so difficult to decide—and almost impossible to interfere."

"Except by advice. Could you not persuade her to remain passive, and not to pay him so much open admiration?"

"Impossible;" said Mabel, "it must be that he is more reserved in the display of his attentions than she is. Are you not severe?"

"Depend upon it," returned Hargrave, "the truth is often more charitable than falsehood, and I am not speaking now in the common spirit of criticism. Lucy is rendering herself an object of general observation, and even ridicule, to the gentlemen of her acquaintance, and though I may be able to prevent such remarks being made in my presence, my influence cannot extend further. She offends all her former ball-room admirers by having eyes for no one but Beauclerc—she will dance with no one else, and pays him an open tribute of admiration, which cannot but be flattering from a pretty girl."

"But I do not see why you suppose he is indifferent to her?"

"If my observation has not deceived me, he shares, in common with many men of talent—a belief in a feeling warmer than friendship, but colder and more spiritual than love. I once knew a man, in fact, who carried on such a flirtation, for I can give it no other name, with a very superior, enthusiastic girl, but when every one expected him to propose to her in form, she heard of his marriage with a woman of the most ordinary understanding, but who, I dare say, made him a very good wife. As I was attached to him, I ventured to remonstrate with him on his conduct. In excuse, he brought so many really flimsy and poetical apologies, and proofs of the pure minded nature of his attachment, that though they appeared to me in their right light, they yet convinced me that he had not intended wrong, but that his vanity had led him astray, into the belief that he could be the object of an admiration superior to love; altogether foolish, but he was sincere, I believe. When I last heard of the poor girl she was sinking in a decline. Now I suspect Beauclerc to be such another as I have described, and I want you to see if you can make Lucy aware of it." "But you must first judge for yourself, and no such opportunity is likely to occur again, as you might not like to go out."

"You set me a difficult task; the more difficult, because Lucy has seemed so estranged from me lately."

"Ah, that reminds me of something else, I had to say. Do you happen to have met Miss Foster, a beautiful girl, one of the most striking women in Bath?"

"No, but I have heard Lucy speak of her."

"Yes, so she used to do, most enthusiastically; and her beauty, if nothing more, deserved admiration. I remember meeting her in the park—she was sitting down, and, as I afterwards learnt, had sprained her ankle. She looked so near fainting, that I did not hesitate to dismount—(for I was riding)—and offer her my assistance. After a little persuasion she gave me her direction and suffered me to place her on my horse, which I carefully led to her house, in the Circus. The grace with which she accepted my services, and the reserve with which she withdrew from my attentions, when they were no longer required, excited some curiosity in me; but, though I was repeatedly congratulated for such a singular opportunity of meeting the mysterious beauty, I am afraid I must confess that I was never able to improve the acquaintance. Now, lately, she has withdrawn entirely from society, and, indeed, up-stairs there is a polite note from her, declining Mrs. Villars' invitation for to-night. I have heard it frequently remarked that she is never seen out of doors, though some of her professed admirers have been anxiously watching for her. Lucy seems entirely to have forgotten her, and colored violently when I asked for her, the other day."

"A long string of evidence," said Mabel, with a half smile, "now tell me how you connect Miss Foster, with Lucy and Mr. Beauclerc."

"Why, she was at an evening party the day before he arrived in Bath, and has not been seen since; but this would be nothing perhaps had not my groom—who, one morning, took my horses to air, through the Circus—seen him call at her house, early, and thought, that when he was denied, he turned away with disappointment. I immediately ordered him to air the horses every morning in the Circus, though certainly not the best place for them, which I might have chosen. However, the result of his information is, that almost every day, before the fashionable world is stirring, Beauclerc calls on Miss Foster, and is as strictly denied. To me, this looks suspicious, and Beauclerc seems carrying on a double game."

"Perhaps she is only some relation, and he calls to leave the morning paper," said Mabel.

"Well, only judge for yourself, if he is sincere with Lucy; if you think he is, we will leave them to themselves, but if not, the poor girl should be warned before her affections are too deeply implicated."

"Yes, I will appear to-night," said Mabel.

What more she might have added was stopped by the entrance of Caroline, whose jealous surveillance had discovered the tÊte-À-tÊte. Casting a fiery glance of suspicion on both, which was received with admirable coolness, she turned to Hargrave, and rather peremptorily informed him, that the case of fruit and flowers which he had ordered from his gardens, at Aston, was arrived, and they waited his permission to open it.

"Oh, I will come," said he, looking rather amused, than either sorry or angry at her displeasure. "Miss Lesly, you will like to see some flowers from Aston."

Accepting the half implied invitation to accompany them, Mabel followed to the morning room, where an immense basket was surrounded by Mrs. Villars and her daughters, in anxious expectation, while china and glass dishes were waiting to receive the fruit.

The basket fully answered the demand upon it—and satisfied Hargrave as to the state of his green-houses and hot-house, by producing some excellent specimens of forced early fruit, which Mrs. Villars had been anticipating, not only as an additional charm to her supper-table, but as a public proof of his anxiety to please her.

Besides flowers for vases, Hargrave drew from the basket, bouquets, arranged with a gardener's nicety, which he presented to Mrs. Villars and her daughters. They were composed of the most beautiful hot-house flowers, and were all in exquisite taste—but by some chance, it happened that the one presented to Caroline, far excelled the others in beauty. The sisters exchanged glances, and Caroline's haughty eye beamed with triumph.

"Stay, what is this?" said the unconscious Hargrave, dipping his hand again into the basket, and drawing forth from the moss, with which it was carefully packed, a bouquet, much smaller in size, and singularly pretty, because composed entirely of white flowers of the rarest kind. "Is it not beautiful?" he exclaimed, holding it up to view; "it really does my gardener credit."

"Beautiful indeed!" exclaimed every one.

"What is that paper round it?" said Maria.

Hargrave turned to the small strip of rather untidy paper, which was fastened to it, and read—

"Miss Lesly will accept this, with my respects."

"From my gardener, Dibden, I declare," said he—a look of childlike pleasure taking possession of his features, as he regarded the flowers which smelt sweeter than all the rest—and then handing them to Mabel, he begged her to accept them.

Mabel held out her hand, and looked much gratified as she took them; but no sooner had she done so, than the color rushed to Caroline's cheek, and a scowl darkened her beautiful features, as she regarded her with ill-concealed malignity. Her own bouquet no longer appeared the finest, and flinging it on the table with such violence, that the head of a camelia was broken from it, she said, angrily—

"I will have no second bests."

"My dear," said her mother, trembling, "yours is, I am sure, the prettiest."

"Do you think I have no eyes," returned Caroline, "or that I am going to be eclipsed in my own house?"

Hargrave stood amazed, for hitherto her temper had been greatly concealed from him, and he was surprised to see features, lately beaming with smiles, now darkened and disfigured by rage, while he felt something very like disgust at the jealousy which so openly betokened a preference for himself. Mabel stood, with her eyes fixed on the flowers she held in her hand, too pained to look up; then suddenly remembering herself, she offered them to Caroline, saying—

"I am glad I have anything to offer you, that you really like—pray take it."

Caroline, however, was too provoked to be easily pacified by this display, as she believed it, of superior sweetness of temper, and roughly pushing aside Mabel's extended hand, the flowers fell to the ground.

Hargrave looked from one to the other in mute surprise; and Mrs. Villars, terrified at her daughter's ungovernable temper, and mistaking his look for vexation, hurriedly interposed.

"Oh, my dear, now do take what Mabel offers you—do, my dear, if you have a fancy for it—I am sure Henry intended to give you the best—who could think you would prefer a few white flowers to that lovely collection of geraniums. Come, my dear, now do have it."

"I am sure," said Hargrave, indifferently, "I knew no difference in the bouquets—I have nothing to do with poor Dibden's unfortunate present."

"There now," said Mrs. Villars, "now do take them, if it is a fancy of yours."

"Don't be angry, love," said Selina; "only think what is to become of the party if you and Henry quarrel. No one will have spirits for anything. Don't, dear, be angry."

"For my part," said Maria, "I see nothing to be angry about."

"Nor I," said Hargrave, as he left the room.

"Now see," said Mrs. Villars, "how you have vexed him."

"Something more than that, I fear," said Maria.

"Well, I really have no patience," observed her mother; "with lovers' quarrels—there, smile and make it all right again. We all know what your feelings are; but do, there is a dear girl, cheer up, for all our sakes. Is she not a silly girl, Mabel."

The latter was too candid to venture on a reply, as she stood busied in restoring the bouquet to order.

Caroline received these offerings to her wrath, with haughty indifference; but, at length, she suffered herself to be appeased by their repeated entreaties, and Mrs. Villars whispered to her niece, that if she now offered the flowers, she thought the dear girl would receive them.

Mabel could scarcely allow herself to minister to so much selfishness, and it was with some appearance of reserve, that she placed the bouquet on the table, by her side, not choosing to subject it to a second rebuff.

But Caroline's good humour was now happily restored, for she had gained all she could by her violence. Not only obtaining possession of the desired object, but being entreated to accept it. She, therefore, rewarded the patience of her mother and sisters, by entering into the arrangements of the evening with renewed animation.

"Mabel," said Lucy, as passing her arm through hers, they walked up stairs together; "where did you get such an angelic temper?"

"Whatever good I do possess," said Mabel, gravely; "is not mine; but is borrowed from a treasure house, which is as free to you as to me."

"But, tell me," urged Lucy, stopping on the landing place; "do you not despise the weakness to which you minister."

"What right have I to do so," answered Mabel; "who knows how proud and self-willed I might have become, if I had not early suffered deprivation, sorrow, and humiliation, as I have done. And who can say, I shall be as strong to-morrow as I am to-day; when a thousand temptations surround us on every side; and we cannot tell under which we may fall, if we once lose sight of the true humility which alone brings strength and power. How, then, can I dare to despise the frailty of others. But, dearest, what is the matter, how can I have pained you."

"You have not pained me," replied Lucy, a momentary color banishing the pallor of her cheek; "but sometimes I feel as if there were something wanting in me, which I find in you—yet, if it has been purchased by suffering, I must not wish for it, for I have not courage for such an ordeal."

"But, only consider," replied Mabel; "how much more noble, how much more worthy—if any could be worthy—would be the offering, to heaven, of a young heart, in the midst of joy and prosperity—than the tearful tribute of the worn spirit, which can find no other refuge. It is only our own rebellion which makes sorrow needed."

"Beautiful words," said Lucy, mournfully, "and something within tells me that they are true;" she stopped for a moment, and looked down upon her own share of the beautiful flowers, which she held in her hand, and a tear hung upon the lash, which shrouded her bright blue eye; then turning again to her cousin, she said:—

"To-morrow, dearest, I will think: to-night, must be all mirth and gladness."

Mabel would have remonstrated, but she saw that the serious fit had passed away, by the beaming smile that lighted her face, and dimpled round her mouth; and she knew her temper too well, to hope to recall it. So the two girls separated. Lucy to think over the pleasures of the evening; while Mabel, meditated how she might serve her, by screening her from the consequences of her indiscretion. She could not, however, refrain from reverting to the disagreeable scene in which she had taken a part. She could not help feeling almost humiliated for Caroline, while she regarded Hargrave's situation with commiseration; for she fancied that, however he might have implicated the honor on which he so strictly prided himself, with regard to Caroline, he displayed very little love; and she sincerely pitied him, as she knew that, if he had once committed himself, he would probably be too proud to retract.