ot came and drew the curtains, and a glance at the little cupids told
her it was time to dress for dinner.

"I'll wear my buttercup dress to-night, Eliot," said Eugenia, when her
black hair had been carefully brushed and plaited in two long braids.
"It always makes my eyes look so big and dark, somehow, and brings out
the colour in my lips and cheeks."

"You are a young one to be noticing such things as that," said Eliot,
under her breath. She wanted to say it aloud, but she only pursed her
lips together as she got out the dress Eugenia had asked for. It was of
some soft, clinging material, of the same sunny yellow that buttercups
wear, and Eugenia knew very well how becoming it was to her brunette
style of beauty. After she was dressed, she spun around before the
pier-glass until she heard her father's step in the hall.

Although she had been so impatient for his coming, she said nothing
about the invitation from Locust until they had gone down to dinner and
were seated in the great dining-room together. She knew that that was
not the way Mollie or Fay or Kell would have done. Any one of them would
have rushed at her father the moment he came in sight, and would have
put her arms around his neck and poured out the whole story. But Eugenia
had never felt on such intimate terms with her father. She admired him
extremely, and thought he was the handsomest man she had ever seen, but
her love for him was of a selfish kind. So long as he indulged her and
never opposed her will, she was a most dutiful little daughter, but as
soon as his wishes crossed hers she pouted and sulked.

To her surprise, he made no objection to her accepting the invitation to
the house party, except to say, half-laughingly, "Don't you think you
are a little selfish to want to run off and leave me alone when I've
scarcely seen you all winter?" Then he laughed outright as she made a
saucy little grimace in answer. He would miss her very much when she was
gone, for she was a bright little thing and amused him, but he had a
feeling of relief as well to think that a month of her vacation would be
pleasantly occupied. She had been so discontented away from her little
friends.

After dinner they strolled into an alcove, screened from the hall by
great pots of palms, and sat down to listen to the music, and watch the
people passing back and forth. It was a gay scene. Ladies in elaborate
evening gowns passed out with their escorts to the opera, or waited