the delightful fuss, all new to them, but Kate took little
interest in it. She was Sir Ronald's very good friend still, and, like
Mrs. Micawber, never deserted him. Captain Danton hid his diminished
head in his study, in Mr. Richard's rooms, or took refuge with the Cure
from the hubbub.

The eventful night at last came round, clear, cold, and near Christmas.
The old ball-room of Danton Hall, disused so long, had been refitted,
waxed, and decorated; the long drawing-room was resplendent; the supper
table set in the dining-room was dazzling to look at, with silver,
Sevres, and glittering glass; the dressing-rooms were in a state of
perfection; the servants all _en grande tenue_; and Danton Hall one
blaze of light. In the bedroom regions the mysteries of the toilet had
been going on for hours. Eunice was busy with her mistress; Agnes the
seamstress was playing _femme de chambre_ to Rose. Grace dressed herself
in twenty minutes, and then dressed Eeny, who only wore pink muslin and
a necklace of pearls, and looked fairy-like and fragile as ever. Grace,
in gray silk, with an emerald brooch, and her brown hair simply worn as
she always wore it, looked lady-like and unassuming.

The guests came by the evening train from Montreal, and the carriages of
the nearer neighbours began coming in rapid succession. Kate stood by
her cordial father's side, receiving their guests. So tall, so stately,
so exquisitely dressed--all the golden hair twisted in thick coils
around her regal head, and one diamond star flashing in its amber
glitter. Lovely with that flush on the delicate cheeks, that streaming
light in the blue eyes.

Rose was eclipsed. Rose looking her best, and very pretty, but nothing
beside her queenly sister. But Rose was very brilliant, flitting hither
and thither, dancing incessantly, and turning whiskered heads in all
directions. They could fall in love with pretty, coquettish Rose, those
very young gentlemen, who could only look at Kate from a respectful
distance in speechless admiration and awe. Rose was of their kind, and
they could talk to her; so Rose was the belle of the night, after all.

Sir Ronald Keith and two or three officers from Montreal, with side
whiskers, a long pedigree, and a first-rate opinion of themselves, were
the only gentlemen who had the temerity to approach the goddess of the
ball--oh! excepting the Reverend Augustus Clare, who, in his intense
admiration, was almost tongue-tied, and Doctor Dan