sabel's partner for
that dance, that he began to consider it a matter of course, and was
highly offended when, after keeping away all the evening, he approached
her, saying, "This is our dance, is it not, Miss Leicester?" and she
replied, "You are too late, Mr. Arlington," and whirled off with Charley
Elliott.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, when Isabel was again seated.

"Was I to refuse a partner in case Mr. Arlington, after keeping away all
the evening, should condescend to ask me? I think you expect too much."

"You knew I should come."

"How could I know?"

"I always do."

"And do you always keep away all the evening?"

He bit his lip. "Will you dance this?"

"I am engaged."

"The next."

"Impossible, my card is quite filled up."

"Never mind, you can strike out one of the names."

"Why should I do so? You had the best chance; you were here from the
first, but from some whim determined not to put down your name, and
looked glum whenever I passed you, and now you think that I will treat
one of these young men so unhandsomely. No, Mr. Arlington, I will not."

"You chide me for not coming sooner. I thought you so well amused that I
was not needed."

"Needed, no; but still you have not been commonly civil to-night."

"You are very unforgiving."

"No, but I will not encourage your whims; you chose to sulk, it was no
fault of mine."

"As you will."

"I think this dancing awfully stupid," he said to Emily, as Isabel went
off with her partner, "I shall be glad when it is over."

"Of course," she replied, with a most provoking laugh.

"Parsons don't usually care for dancing," added Harry, in a tone equally
irritating.

But for Charley Elliott the evening would have been dull enough to
Isabel. She would far rather have had Everard for a partner than any of
those whose names were on her programme, but she believed that he had
purposely avoided her all the earlier part of the evening: besides,
Everard's manner towards her of late had become quite an enigma--now
cold, almost haughty, then again soft, even tender, then
indifferent--and Isabel resented its variableness. She was the more
annoyed, as she knew that Emily was not quite in the dark.

"I think Mr. Elliott is a very nice young man, don't you, Isabel?" said
Emily at breakfast next morning.

"Very," replied Isabel, coloring warmly as she caught Everard's
penetrating glance.

"A done thing, I see," laughed Harry.

"How can you be so abs