well on Ada Harcourt, who was highly gifted, both with intellect and
beauty. After her dress was arranged she went to the table for her old
white gloves, the cleaning of which had cost her much trouble, for her
mother did not seem to be at all interested in them, so Ada did as
well as she could. As she was about to put them on her mother returned
from a drawer, into the recesses of which she had been diving, and
from which she brought a paper carefully folded.

"Here, Ada," said she, "you need not wear those gloves; see here"--and
she held up a pair of handsome mitts, a fine linen handkerchief, and a
neat little gold pin.

"Oh, mother, mother!" said Ada joyfully, "where did you get them?"

"I know," answered Mrs. Harcourt, "and that is enough."

After a moment's thought Ada knew, too. The little hoard of money her
mother had laid by for a warm winter shawl had been spent for her.
From Ada's lustrous blue eyes the tears were dropping as, twining her
arm around her mother's neck, she said, "Naughty, naughty mother!" but
there was a knock at the door. The sleigh which Anna Graham had
promised to send for Ada had come; so dashing away her tears, and
adjusting her new mitts and pin, she was soon warmly wrapped up, and
on her way to Mr. Graham's.

"In the name of the people, who is that?" said Lucy Dayton, as Anna
Graham entered the dressing-room, accompanied by a bundle of something
securely shielded from the cold.

The removal of the hood soon showed Lucy who it was, and with an
exclamation of surprise she turned inquiringly to a young lady who was
standing near. To her look the young lady replied, "A freak of Anna's,
I suppose. She thinks a great deal of those Harcourts."

An impatient "pshaw!" burst from Lucy's lips, accompanied with the
words, "I wonder who she thinks wants to associate with that
plebeian!"

The words, the look, and the tone caught Ada's eye and ear, and
instantly blighted her happiness. In the joy and surprise of receiving
an invitation to the party it had never occurred to her that she might
be slighted there, and she was not prepared for Lucy's unkind remark.
For an instant the tears moistened her long silken eyelashes, and a
deeper glow mantled her usually bright cheek; but this only increased
her beauty, which tended to increase Lucy's vexation. Lucy knew that
in her own circle there was none to dispute her claim; but she knew,
too, that in a low-roofed house, in the outskirts of the town