The united taste of the whole family had not been exerted without effect—and their guests might well be delighted with the preparations which had been made for them.

On entering the house, tea and coffee waited them in the dining-room on the right hand, and, after an opportunity of taking this refreshment, they next ascended the staircase, which was brilliantly lighted, and ornamented with evergreens. This led to the ante-room, from which several doors opened on apartments all dedicated to the service of the evening; something, indeed, to the detriment of the family comfort. There might be seen, evergreens of the richest varieties, which were intermingled with flowering and beautiful geraniums.

On the left, a door opened into the apartment chosen for the reception room, where was arranged everything that could minister to comfort. The softest couches, the most lounging easy chairs, worked ottomans, and foot-stools, which had occupied much of the sisters' time. This was intended for those chaperones, who, through the folding doors which led to the ball-room, preferred watching the dances, to joining in the whist parties; for wherever they were seated, the ever revolving waltz would be almost certain to bring to their view, those in whom they were most interested.

A more distant room, the one furthest removed from the sound of the music, was selected for a card-room.

But the ball-room had occupied most attention, and a brilliant effect it certainly presented, that evening. Colonel Hargrave had had so many expensive whims which no one hindered him from gratifying, and evidences of his expenditure or his taste might be seen in every part of the house that night. Round the room, seats were arranged for the dancers, which being here and there interrupted by evergreens, and hot-house plants, formed, as the sisters well knew agreeable opportunities for those tÊte-À-tÊtes which they were so clever in sustaining.

Mrs. Villars looked forward to this evening with elation, but yet with some share of anxiety also. Nothing, she felt, but the complete success of her schemes could justify to her husband, the expenditure in which she had lately been so lavish, and, though she was indifferent to his censure in trifles, she feared to excite his serious displeasure by any great offence.

She was thinking of this as she stood with him and Hargrave, in the lounging room, where they waited to receive their guests, watching to observe the effect caused by Caroline's entrance.

"The girls are late," said, Mr. Villars, nervously consulting his watch, "it will be awkward if any one comes."

"I think I hear them, sir," said Hargrave.

At the same time the door opened, and the four sisters entered; even Maria looked well in the studied negligÉ of her appearance, but Caroline looked brilliant as she entered, with her majestic steady step, and well-pleased countenance; while the pure white flowers for which she had so bitterly contended, rested in all their simplicity upon her haughty breast.

"Yon have not forgotten your promise, I hope," she said, playfully resting her fan upon Hargrave's arm, "of inviting a great many of your gentlemen friends."

"Oh, no, I have selected a few of my acquaintances, but with care; for when entrusted with the privilege of affording introductions to ladies, one cannot be too careful."

"Fudge," exclaimed Maria; "as if it signified who one waltzed with for an evening."

"What," exclaimed Hargrave, "does it not signify whose arm encircles your waist?"

"Oh, come, do not squabble, do you know we are to have the pleasure of Perfection's company, to-night; I should not be surprised to see her come down with a dress up to the throat, and down to the wrist, a walking sermon on the degeneracy of the age."

"Really, mamma," said Caroline, smiling at the latter remark, "you ought to have ascertained if she had a dress fit to appear in."

"Mabel is always dressed well," said Lucy, "though she seems to take so little pains about it."

"Oh, perfect, most perfect," said Maria, holding up her hands and raising her eyes in affected admiration, "Henry, do you not appear very small in her company."

"Perfectly infantine," he returned, with a good-natured smile; "but hush, here she comes."

Maria took up the hush, and repeated it so loudly that it deadened every other sound, and caused a blush to mantle on Mabel's cheek, as she entered. She looked a little timid as she advanced into the little circle.

To tell the truth, her garret toilet had had only the assistance of the good-natured cook, who, alone, in the general bustle, had found time to think of her; yet there was not a single fault to be found with it, and Caroline bit her lip with vexation, when, instead of the ill-dressed bashfulness she had expected, she felt the influence of a something wholly indescribable, yet all fascinating, in her appearance, as she quietly stood by her uncle's side.

As if seized by sudden impulse, Hargrave stepped forward, and requested the favour of her hand for the first dance. Mabel replied that she did not intend dancing at all that evening, and, though, apparently dissatisfied, he was compelled to submit.

Mrs. Villars drew him a little aside, for Caroline's glowing eyes preluded a storm.

"You know," she said, laying her hand confidentially on his arm, "that Caroline has been hoping for the pleasure of opening the evening with you—you will not disappoint her?"

"Pray tell her I shall be very happy," he replied, a little peevishly.

"Caroline, my love," she said, immediately turning to her daughter, "Henry feared you were engaged, but as I do not think you are, I have ventured to promise him your hand for the first."

Hargrave could scarcely repress a smile at this adroit falsehood, and as he seconded her request, Caroline graciously consented.

Mabel felt slightly annoyed, she scarce knew why—perhaps because she had been too pleased a moment before—at seeing how quick the cloud passed from Hargrave's brow: it never occurred to her to doubt the truth of what Mrs. Villars said.

They were, however, no longer left to their own entertainment, for guests began to crowd in, till the rooms were filled to overflowing; young and old, pleased, to-night, with the entertainment they would criticise on the morrow, prepared to enjoy themselves.

Upon the principal sofa in the reception-room, two old ladies were seated, the Lady Scratchal and the dowager Mrs. Pierce, who, from some reason or other, claimed a double share of respect in the houses where they visited, partly, perhaps, because they both possessed unlimited power over the large fortunes they enjoyed, and appeared to have not altogether determined how to dispose of them. There is an instinctive power in wealth, which the world often feels without stopping to analyse, and this these two ladies exercised with ready tact over their acquaintance.

"No one gets up a party like Mrs. Villars," observed Mrs. Pierce to her friend.

"But I think there is a great deal more of display than there ought to be," returned Lady Scratchal, whose hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, formed a melancholy contrast to the sparkling diamonds which encircled her wrinkled brow, and the youthful hair which surmounted it.

"Ah!" said Mrs. Pierce, "I am afraid, she is silly enough to reckon on the rich colonel for her Caroline—but I am greatly mistaken if there is any love there."

"Men did not make love in that way, in my time, certainly," observed Lady Scratchal, the ominous shake of her head covering the shades of many departed admirers.

"Well, and you know," observed Mrs. Pierce, "that I have my doubts about that other gentleman—we need not mention names—for you know who I mean, I am sure."

"With Lucy?" enquired her friend.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Pierce; "I am sadly afraid—"

She did not finish her sentence, but followed it up with many dreadful shakes of the head, and other symbolical actions, which Lady Scratchal seemed perfectly to understand.

Their attention was, however, diverted, by seeing Hargrave hurrying to the door to receive, with a hearty shake of the hand, a young man, who was entering with rather an abstracted air, till roused by the heartiness of his welcome, to which he immediately responded. Hargrave then hurried him to his hostess, who started, when she heard his name given as Captain Clair, yet concealed every sensation of annoyance, for fear of offending her wealthy relation. Mabel met him with unfeigned pleasure, and eagerly enquired for news of Aston, and her kind friends at the rectory; but Lucy having given him a trembling, feverish hand, for an instant, turned away, impatiently, and fixed her eyes upon the door.

It was so tantalising to see one after another enter, well-dressed, good-looking, and welcome to all but her. Her head was giddy with watching, and her ear had become so acute from listening, that she could distinguish footsteps on the stairs, from the hum of many voices, and the merry music which made her poor head ache.

How gladly, too, in the presence of Arthur Clair, would she have appeared the admired and loved of the far more talented Beauclerc. Regardless of the eyes of the watchful dowagers, she thought and teased herself till her very beauty seemed to fade before the workings of her restless and ill-governed imagination. And Clair seemed to watch her with a pitiful expression—perhaps, he believed her as broken-hearted for him, as he was for Mabel. Enraged at this idea, she would accept the first partner, who presented himself, and suffer him to lead her to the giddy round, where, with excited, restless spirits, she would seem the merriest of them all; but tired, in a few minutes, she would take the first opportunity of returning to the lounging-room, and there, sinking into a chair, she would indulge in a fit of thought, more soothing from its very painfulness, than the merriment in which she had so lately joined.

She was sitting thus, late in the evening, under the severe, but unheeded scrutiny, of Lady Scratchal and her friend, when the well-known and long watched-for step was heard, and Beauclerc, looking more handsome and more pensive than ever, entered. Entirely forgetful of everything but the long hours of dreary monotony, which had preceded his coming, she started up, and her face was, in an instant, radiant with smiles, as she walked quickly across the room to meet him, extending her pretty hand with a mingling of playfulness and pleasure in her manner.

"Where have you been, truant?" she cried, suffering him to retain the hand which she had so warmly extended; "did you not know how dull everything would be without you?"

"Had I really guessed as much, I might have delayed the business which detained me, though at some inconvenience," he said, kindly, but gravely, leading her to one of the recesses, where he took a seat beside her.

"Ah," he added, thoughtfully, "you little know of how great a value your kindness has been to me—now, while my spirits seem to sink within me. How should I ever have borne my heavy trial without such a sweet comforter, as you have proved yourself to be to me."

"Ah," said Lucy, her eyes falling beneath his anxious glance, "how proud I ought to be, to have been able to administer comfort to such a mind as yours."

"All the mental energy we possess," returned Beauclerc, in the same sad tone, "does not equal the magic of one kind word from a feeling woman."

"I am too glad to have the power of serving you," said Lucy, as her eyes sparkled with pleasure.

"And is it really a pleasure to you to serve me," repeated Beauclerc, looking at her with liquid eyes—"then yes—I think—yes, I will be bold enough to ask you to serve me still further; but first you shall know my history—a painful story indeed—but it is fair that you should know it, before you bestow any further kindness upon me. But when could I find such an opportunity?"

Lucy thought, for a moment, and then replied—

"I often walk before breakfast—and if you happen to meet me any morning in the park, you can tell it me there undisturbed."

"Will you walk to-morrow?" he enquired.

"Very likely I may; but stay, I will go to-morrow, because they will not be down till eleven, I know, so there will be plenty of time for you to say anything you like."

"Ingenuous, kind-hearted girl," he exclaimed; "I know some who hide their coldness, for the feelings of others, behind a prudish reserve, which would not allow them to do such a vastly improper thing, as meet a gentleman in their morning walk—but you are not of the number of those worldly beings—I will be waiting for you at that corner, where there is, if I remember rightly, an old Jupiter's head."

"Very well," said Lucy; "but you must take the chance of my coming, as it is very late now. Is it not nearly three o'clock? I never spent so long an evening."

"You are tired, I see; but we will join this last waltz—for such it ought to be, I am sure."

So saying, he passed his arm lightly round her waist, and was soon amongst the dancers.

Mabel had been no inattentive observer of Mr. Beauclerc's entrance, and she perceived that Lucy seemed to excuse to herself the open admiration she paid him, by considering him as a kind of demi-god, while he appeared contented rather to suffer than to encourage that admiration which he too plainly perceived.

"Hargrave had, for some time, stood by her in silence, bent on the same observation.

"Well," he said, speaking at length—as if he would challenge her thoughts.

"I hope—but fear," she replied; "how lovely she looks to-night."

Hargrave gave vent to an impatient "hum."

"What influence can I possess against such an infatuation?" enquired Mabel.

"The influence of common sense," he replied; "I never witnessed such absurdity in my life."

Mabel sighed, for she knew how impossible it was to govern Lucy, when bent on having her own way.

She perceived, also, for the first time, that Hargrave was either out of spirits, or in one of his obstinate humours; and, when Caroline joined them, which she did almost immediately, he broke from them, and retreated to a group of gentlemen near the door-way, with whom he had spent the greater part of the evening, much to his fair cousin's chagrin. Perhaps, an incautious remark of Mrs. Villars, on his intimacy with her daughter, which, possibly, he had overheard, might have led to this inconsistent conduct; for he had ably resisted all her little plans to bring them together.

Mrs. Villars was sensibly annoyed; and Caroline, who, in the course of the evening, had overheard many remarks in praise of Mabel's beauty, and had been repeatedly called upon to join in praising her—felt enraged with her, as, what she termed, the under-ground cause of her failure.

In vain Selina looked all that was fascinating, and smiled all that was good-natured—in vain Maria jested—the spirits of the hostess were infectious, and soon communicated their influence to her guests, who, one by one, took their leave, and hurried away, sooner, perhaps, than they might have done.

The family party were once more alone—and when the last guest had been civilly disposed of, stood regarding each other in bewildered silence, surrounded by failing wax-lights, and the ruins of gay bouquets; with the echoes of the now silent music still sounding, in fancy, in their ears.

Hargrave, without waiting to discuss the evening, during which he knew he had taken so unpopular a part, bade them, hastily, good night, and hurried down stairs, where he encountered Clair, who, as if spell-bound, had lingered till the last, and now busied himself in a forlorn search for his hat.

Hargrave offered to lend him one, and took him into his room. They found the fire burning so brightly, and all looking so snug, that they were tempted to remain talking over it, till the lost hat was forgotten.

Mabel, anxious to offer a word of counsel, proposed to accompany Lucy to her room, to assist her in untwisting her hair; but this Lucy declined coolly and evasively, and she too, departed, feeling a depression arising from the lateness of the hour, and an evening spent in heated and noisy rooms, with which she was hitherto unacquainted; and it was some time before she could shut out the moving panorama, which perpetually presented itself, and close her eyes in sleep.

In order to make arrangements for the display shewn that evening, the whole house had been overturned; but, in the amusement of the preparations, none had felt the many little inconveniences to which they had all laughingly subjected themselves; but now the scene was changed. Nothing appeared more wretched to the sisters than all being obliged to occupy the same sleeping apartment, and submit to all the little acts of self-denial, which good-nature would only have discovered to be amused with. Wearied, fatigued, and disappointed, few felt so chagrined as Mrs. Villars, when, after seeing to some necessary household duties, and waiting till her kitchen was cleared of half intoxicated waiters, she retired to her room, anxious to shut out the unpleasant thoughts of the evening in sleep. She was not therefore very agreeably surprised to find her eldest daughter waiting for her.

It was with difficulty that Caroline had suppressed her temper till that minute; and, though it was already morning, she felt it impossible to retire to rest without first venting it upon her indulgent parent, whom she regarded, (as most spoilt children do their parents), as the malignant cause of all her sufferings, real or imaginary. Mrs. Villars would willingly have escaped, feeling herself too distressed, and too tired to frame those excuses and cunning falsehoods which had been so often applied, to heal the wounds of an acrimonious temper; but it was in vain; for Caroline indignantly flinging herself down into a chair; exclaimed—

"I knew how it would be—it is all your doing—and I do think if you had felt like any other mother, you would have spared me such a mortification."

"I!" replied her mother, almost equally irritated by fatigue and disappointment, "I spare you mortification! how can I make the man love you! It is your own vile temper which is in fault."

"Whatever I may be," replied Caroline, bitterly, "I am what you have made me; but I can tell you, that if that girl is to be suffered to queen it over us all, I am not the one to stand it, I would rather go out as a governess."

"Mabel! what has she to do with it?" enquired Mrs. Villars, not sorry to have the blame thrown off her own shoulders.

"Did you not see Henry speaking to her, and to no one else; and did he not ask her to dance before me; and did not Lady Scratchal say that, if she were you, she would not suffer such an artful girl—who knew how to make such use of her good looks—to be with her daughters, if she had any."

"But, Cary dear, remember the poor child has no home, and I promised her mother she should find one here."

"Very well," said Caroline, tossing her head angrily, "I see how it is; she has already supplanted us with papa, and she is going to do the same with you."

"My love," said Mrs. Villars, quite overcome by this appeal to her parental affection, "you know better than that; you know how much I would sacrifice for you—any thing—everything."

"Then send her away," said Caroline, bursting into tears.

"I will see about it, I will think to-morrow," replied her mother.

"No; say you will, to-night," urged Caroline, kissing her, "just say you will."

"Go my love, now—there is your papa, on the stairs—and he will not like to find you here."

Caroline was, reluctantly, forced to hurry away, and her mother, once more alone, endeavoured, in vain, to reconcile her desire with her policy. Almost equally with her daughter, she wished to get rid of Mabel, for she was not blind to the fact, that her gentle dignity of manner, joined to her self-denying temper, contrasted ill with the characters of her daughters; yet, there was one obstacle which she had no power to remove; for, possibly, Mabel was aware of the loan granted by her mother, and might be regarding her stay in the house, as the condition upon which it would be cancelled; otherwise, how could she have so cheerfully evaded every attempt to humiliate her.

Finding it impossible to meet this view of the subject in any satisfactory manner, she thought that the most comfortable plan would be to postpone the consideration of it till Caroline should again renew the topic; trusting to her ingenuity for some plan for getting out of the difficulty, should Caroline's obstinacy force her to do any thing which would oblige Mabel to seek some other refuge. And, having come to this decision, she sunk into a dreamy sleep, from which she was only awakened by the noon-day sun.