little mournful; but her regrets were
flashed with hopes. She was looking forward to new conquests; and yet
she was strangely averse to resign the one great heart that had been
her worshipper through the happy summer months.

All alike were waiting for an opportunity. And the days went by, and
it did not come, because it was watched for. But suddenly Mrs. Filmer
resolved to give a "Good-bye Ball," and then, when everybody's
thoughts were on the trivialities of flowers and ribbons, destiny, one
morning, called them to account for the love she had given. She wanted
to know what harvest of joy or sorrow had been grown upon the slopes
of the sunny summer days, and whether the love that had brightened
them was to be homed forever in faithful hearts; or cast out wounded
and forlorn, to perish and be forgotten on the hard highways of
selfish and mercenary life!

CHAPTER III

It was the morning before "the Ball," and Mrs. Filmer was busy about
the packing of some valuable bric-a-brac, which was to be taken with
them to the city. She went into Harry's room, to see if the pieces
adorning it had been attended to properly; and, glancing carefully
around, her eyes fell upon a book of expensive illustrations. She
determined to lock it away, and lifted it for that purpose. A letter
fell from its pages, and she read it. As she did so, her eyes flashed,
and her face grew passionately sombre.

"The idea!" she muttered. "The very idea of such a thing!"

She did not replace the letter, but taking it in her hand, went in
search of Harry; and as she could not find him, she proceeded to Mr.
Filmer's study. He looked up with fidgety annoyance, and she said
crossly:

"Henry, I am sorry to disturb you; but I suppose your son is of more
importance than your book."

"Is there anything amiss with Harry?"

"Harry is on the point of making a dreadful _mesalliance_."

"With whom?"

"That Van Hoosen girl."

"How do you know?"

"I found a letter in his room--a perfectly dreadful letter."

"Dreadful!"

"You know what I mean--a letter asking her to be his wife."

"It might be worse than that. If Harry loves her, I am glad he loves
her honorably."

"Honorably! Such a marriage is impossible; and for once, you must take
Harry in hand, and tell him so."

"Harry is of age. He is independent of me, in so far that he makes his
own living, and has his own income. I can advise, but if you have your
usual wisdom, Emma, you will not a