express the hope that you are not
ill, dearest," says smooth-tongued Dora, advancing toward her. "How
early you left us! I shouldn't have known how early only that Mr.
Dynecourt told me. Are you sure you are not ill?"

"Not in the least, only a little fatigued," replied Florence calmly.

"Ah, no wonder, with your exertions before the dancing commenced, and
your unqualified success! You reigned over everybody, darling. Nobody
could hope even to divide the honors of the evening with you. Your
acting was simply superb."

"Thank you," says Florence, who is not in bed, but is sitting in a chair
drawn near the window, through which the moonbeams are flinging their
pale rays. She is clad in a clinging white dressing-gown that makes her
beauty saint-like, and has all her long hair falling loosely round her
shoulders.

"What a charming evening it has been!" exclaims Dora ecstatically,
clasping her hands, and leaning her arms on the back of a chair. "I
hardly know when I have felt so thoroughly happy." Florence shudders
visibly. "You enjoyed yourself, of course?" continues Dora. "Everyone
raved about you. You made at least a dozen conquests; one or half a
one--" with a careful hesitation in her manner intended to impress her
listener--"is as much as poor little insignificant me can expect."

Florence looks at her questioningly.

"I think one really honest lover is worth a dozen others," she says,
her voice trembling. "Do you mean me to understand, Dora, that you have
gained one to-night?"

Florence's whole soul seems to hang on her cousin's answer. Dora
simpers, and tries to blush, but in reality grows a shade paler. She
is playing for a high stake, and fears to risk a throw lest it may be
ventured too soon.

"Oh, you must not ask too much!" she replies, shaking her blonde head.
"A lover--no! How can you be so absurd! And yet I think--I hope--"

"I see!" interrupts Florence sadly. "Well, I will be as discreet as you
wish; but at least, if what I imagine be true, I can congratulate you
with all my heart, because I know--I know you will be happy."

Going over to Mrs. Talbot, she lays her arms round her neck and kisses
her softly. As she does so, a tear falls from her eyes upon Dora's
cheek. There is so much sweetness and abandonment of self in this action
that Dora for the moment is touched by it. She puts up her hand, and,
wiping away the tear from her cheek as though it burns her, says
lightly--

"But indeed, my dea