sacrifice.

When she ceased, there was a moment's profound silence. Then Lady Edith,
drawing a long breath, expressed the welcome commonplace which restored
the atmosphere of daily life.

"How <i>could</i> you remember it all?"

Kitty sat down, her lip trembling scornfully.

"I had to say it every week at the convent."

"I understand," said Cliffe in Darrell's ear--"that last night she was
Dona Sol. An accommodating young woman."

Meanwhile Kitty looked up to find Ashe beside her. He said,
"Magnificent!"--but it did not matter to her what he said. His face told
her that she had moved him, and that he was incapable of any foolish
chatter about it. A smile of extraordinary sweetness sprang into her
eyes; and when Lady Grosville came up to thank her, the girl impetuously
rose, and, in the foreign way, kissed her hand, courtesying. Lord
Grosville said, heartily, "Upon my word, Kitty, you ought to go on the
stage!" and she smiled upon him, too, in a flutter of feeling,
forgetting his scolding and her own impertinence, before dinner. The
revulsion, indeed, throughout the company--with two exceptions--was
complete. For the rest of the evening Kitty basked in sunshine and
flattery. She met it with a joyous gentleness, and the little figure,
still bedraped in white, became the centre of the room's kindness.

The Dean was triumphant.

"My dear Miss Lyster," he said, presently, finding himself near that
lady, "did you ever hear anything better done? A most remarkable
talent!"

Mary smiled.

"I am wondering," she said, "what they teach you in French convents--and
why! It is all so singular,--isn't it?"

* * * * *

Late that night Ashe entered his room--before his usual time, however.
He had tired even of Lord Grosville's chat, and had left the
smoking-room still talking. Indeed, he wished to be alone, and there was
that in his veins which told him that a new motive had taken possession
of his life.

He sat beside the open window reviewing the scenes and feelings of the
day--his interview with Kitty in the morning--the teasing coquette of
the afternoon--the inspired poetic child of the evening. Rapidly, but
none the less strongly and steadfastly, he made up his mind. He would
ask Kitty Bristol to marry him, and he would ask her immediately.

Why? He scarcely knew her. His mother, his family would think it
madness. No doubt it was madness. Yet, as far as he could explain his
impulse