up to her where she sat
with her aunt, she merely said: "Why, Mr. Westover! I thought you took
leave of this scene of gayety long ago."

"Did you?" Westover returned, provisionally, and she saved him from the
sin of framing some deceit in final answer by her next question.

"Have you seen anything of Alan lately?" she asked, in a voice
involuntarily lowered.

Westover replied in the same octave: "Yes; I saw him going a good while
ago."

"Oh!" said the girl. "Then I think my aunt and I had better go, too."

Still she did not go, and there was an interval in which she had the air
of vaguely waiting. To Westover's vision, the young people still passing
to and from the ballroom were like the painted figures of a picture
quickened with sudden animation. There were scarcely any elders to
be seen now, except the chaperons, who sat in their places with iron
fortitude; Westover realized that he was the only man of his age left.
He felt that the lights ought to have grown dim, but the place was as
brilliant as ever. A window had been opened somewhere, and the cold
breath of the night was drawing through the heated rooms.

He was content to have Bessie stay on, though he was almost dropping
with sleep, for he was afraid that if she went at once, the carriage
might not have got back, and the whole affair must somehow be given
away; at last, if she were waiting, she decided to wait no longer, and
then Westover did not know how to keep her. He saw her rise and stoop
over her aunt, putting her mouth to the elder lady's ear, and he heard
her saying, "I am going home, Aunt Louisa." She turned sweetly to him.
"Won't you let us set you down, Mr. Westover?"

"Why, thank you, I believe I prefer walking. But do let me have your
carriage called," and again he hurried himself into his overcoat and
hat, and ran down-stairs, and the barker a third time sent forth his
lamentable cries in summons of Miss Lynde's carriage.

While he stood on the curb-stone eagerly peering up and down the street,
he heard, without being able either to enjoy or resent it, one of the
policemen say across him to the other, "Miss lynde seems to be doin' a
livery-stable business to-night."

Almost at the moment a carriage drove up, and he recognized Miss Lynde's
coachman, who recognized him.

"Just got back, sor," he whispered, and a minute later Bessie came
daintily out over the carpeted way with her aunt.

"How good of you!" she said, and "Good-night, Mr.