f something to say, that
she might hide her aching heart from his merciless gaze. Finally she
remarked that the streets were quiet, and he that the night was fine;
and in such commonplaces the ride was passed.

Mary found her mother up, eager to learn her impressions of the first
large party she had ever attended.

"I am very tired, mother," she said, determined to end the torturing
inquisition, "and am aching to get to bed. I'll tell you about the party
to-morrow. Don't call me early: let me have a good sleep."

With a feeling of sickening disgust she laid off the silk and lace and
flowers which a few hours before had so pleased her. The pale face
which met her as she stood before her mirror was very unlike the happy,
expectant face she had seen there in the early evening. Turning from the
piteous image, she hurriedly put the mean dress away, longing to have
the sheltering darkness about her. Soon she had laid her head on the
pillow, where, with eyes staring into the darkness, it throbbed for a
weary while. "What am I to Christian Van Pelt?" This was the question
the poor heart argued and re-argued. One sweet delicious evening stood
over against this last, so full of heartache.

The next morning Mary felt weary with all the world. Her home seemed
poorer and meaner than ever; the boarders disgusted her with their
coarseness; teaching was unrelieved drudgery; everything was
distasteful. To her mother's renewed inquiries about the party she
replied wearily, "My dress was poor and mean, mother; and had I spent
our year's income on my toilet, it would have still been poor, compared
with those I saw last night. For such as I there is nothing in
fashionable life but heart-burning and humiliation."

A few days after this there came from Mrs. Van Pelt to Miss Trigillgus
an invitation to tea. She at once longed and dreaded to meet Christian;
so the invitation was declined on the plea of indisposition. It was
renewed two evenings, later, and she was obliged to accept it. Mary
never looked better than on that evening. She wore a blue empress-cloth,
which heightened the fairness of her complexion and of her bright hair.
After tea she and Mrs. Van Pelt were looking at some old pictures. They
were discussing an ambrotype of herself, taken when she was thirteen,
when a servant announced guests in the parlor.

"You were a pretty child, my dear," said Mrs. Van Pelt, rising to go to
the parlor, "and you are a handsome woman--a beau