.
She had a good solid foundation to build upon in the jealousy of two or
three of the leading girls of the style of pretensions illustrated by
some of their talk which has been given. There is no possible success
without some opposition as a fulcrum: force is always aggressive, and
crowds something or other, if it does not hit or trample on it.

The cruelest cut of all was the remark attributed to Mr. Livingston
Jenkins, who was what the opposition girls just referred to called the
great "swell" among the privileged young gentlemen who were present at
the gathering.

"Rip Van Myrtle, you call that handsome girl, do you, Miss Clara? By
Jove, she's the stylishest of the whole lot, to say nothing of being a
first-class beauty. Of course you know I except one, Miss Clara. If a
girl can go to sleep and wake up after twenty years looking like that, I
know a good many who had better begin their nap without waiting. If I
were Florence Smythe, I'd try it, and begin now,--eh, Clara?"

Miss Browne felt the praise of Myrtle to be slightly alleviated by the
depreciation of Miss Smythe, who had long been a rival of her own. A
little later in the evening Miss Smythe enjoyed almost precisely the
same sensation, produced in a very economical way by Mr. Livingston
Jenkins's repeating pretty nearly the same sentiments to her, only with
a change in two of the proper names. The two young ladies were left
feeling comparatively comfortable with regard to each other, each
intending to repeat Mr. Livingston Jenkins's remark about her friend to
such of her other friends as enjoyed clever sayings, but not at all
comfortable with reference to Myrtle Hazard, who was evidently
considered by the leading "swell" of their circle as the most noticeable
personage of the assembly. The individual exception in each case did
very well as a matter of politeness, but they knew well enough what he
meant.

It seemed to Myrtle Hazard, that evening, that she felt the bracelet on
her wrist glow with a strange, unaccustomed warmth. It was as if it had
just been unclasped from the arm of a young woman full of red blood and
tingling all over with swift nerve-currents. Life had never looked to
her as it did that evening. It was the swan's first breasting the
water,--bred on the desert sand, with vague dreams of lake and river,
and strange longings as the mirage came and dissolved, and at length
afloat upon the sparkling wave. She felt as if she had for the first