that that little goose,
Ada, cried her eyes out about it that night, and then in again next
morning." "I know that Ada was very much hurt at Lady Ashton's
rudeness," replied Isabel.

"I'm sure that I was as angry and annoyed as any of them, but for the
life of me I can't help laughing whenever I think of it. But confess
now, Isabel, are you not desperately in love with Arthur
Barrington--come tell the truth."

"Well, the truth is, no, most decidedly not," Isabel answered, laughing.

"Ah, now, I'm quite disappointed, for I had made up my mind to that
match, if only to aggravate Lady Ashton. She has no influence in that
quarter, as anyone may see; and he is so decidedly 'smitten."'

"What nonsense you talk, Emily."

"It is not nonsense. I assure you that I mean what I say. Ah, my dear,
you had better consider the matter. Second thoughts, you know, are
sometimes best. He is a very nice fellow, and his father is immensely
rich. You can have him if you choose: I am sharp enough to see that."

"But then you see I don't choose," returned Isabel, much amused.
"Besides, I think that you are quite mistaken."

"Oh, you silly Isabel, how can you be so provokingly stupid? By the bye,
what a little namby-pamby thing that Mabel Ainsley is. What Lucy can see
in her to like, passes my comprehension."

"I presume it must be because Lucy is so different, and then Mabel is so
pliant, which no doubt suits, as Lucy is fond of taking the lead."

"They say that likes go by contraries; but as far as my observations go,
it is seldom the case," observed Emily.

"A similarity of tastes and ideas is usually more attractive; but then,
'novelty's charming,' you know," responded Isabel.

"I do wish that we could get up a fancy ball--a private masquerade, you
know. I was speaking to Ada and Lucy about it last night. I said that I
would be night, and Lucy thought you ought to be morning."

"I hope they will give up the idea, as I really could not take part in
it," interrupted Isabel.

"Why not--what harm could there be? What makes you so fastidious,
Isabel?"

"It is not that, dear Emily;" but I have very painful associations
connected with a private masquerade, the only one that I ever went to.
That night poor papa received the sad news of his failure; and in the
midst of that gay scene, I received a summons to return, as my papa was
alarmingly ill, and scarcely expected to live through the night. He
never recovered, though he lingered