but grave, and his lips were firmly set.
During the time of my conversation with Mr. Fleisch and Miss Kingsley he
had been sitting apart with Mrs. Marsh, while Paul Barr had returned to
the piano and played a series of passionate and ardent music, the words
of which he sung in a deep bass. But at the knock of my maid he paused,
and now sat looking back over his shoulder at me with pathetic eyes.

"Home," I said to my hostess.

"Early."

"Horses."

"Sorry."

Her face expressed the regret at my departure which it seemed to me any
extra words would have impaired the artistic value of, so much of a
convert to the views regarding moderation had I become.

Miss Kingsley produced my wraps from her boudoir, which Paul Barr with a
brace of sighs assisted me to put on. I bade good evening to them all.
Mr. Spence made me a low but formal bow. I could see his lip tremble.
The instant after, as with Paul Barr at my side I began to descend the
stairs, a hurried step behind told me that the master was coming also. I
went down to my carriage with one on either hand, the artist-poet
pouring out a flood of words which I scarcely heeded, while Mr. Spence
in an occasional monosyllable endeavored to express the hope that he
might meet me again.

Just as I reached the threshold a superb rose, which had been the only
ornament of my costume, chanced to fall from my corsage on the marble
floor. It lay nearest to Mr. Spence, who started to pick it up. But he
hesitated, and the consequent delay was taken advantage of by his rival,
who had darted forward at the same moment. Mr. Barr lifted the rose and
pressed it to his lips eagerly, twice and thrice. Then, without asking
my leave, he put it in his button-hole. It was he too who helped me
into my carriage. He bent low over the hand I gave him, while Mr.
Spence, still irresolute, bowed from the shadow of the door-way.

"May I have the honor of calling upon you?" asked Paul Barr.

"Certainly, if you wish. And, Mr. Spence, I shall be very glad to see
you also," I cried from the carriage window.

IV.

I felt next morning a little as if my experience of the previous night
were a dream. But as I thought over all that had occurred, what may be
called the romantic features seemed to dwindle in distinctness and
importance, and I dwelt chiefly on the mental profit I had derived from
these new associations. Once more I deplored the existence of the vain
and coquettish notions that had led me