iet dignity Helen received them all, the thought once creeping
into her heart that she was preferred, notwithstanding that engagement.
But she soon repudiated this idea as unworthy of her. She could not be
wholly happy with one who, to win her hand, had trampled upon the
affections of another, even if that other were Juno Cameron.

And so she kept out of his way as much as possible, watching her sister
admiringly as she moved about with an easy, assured grace, or floated
like a snow flake through the dance in which Wilford persuaded her to
join, looking after her with a proud, all-absorbing feeling, which left
no room for Sybil Grandon's coquettish advances.

As if the reappearance of Katy had awakened all that was weak and silly
in Sybil's nature, she now put forth her full powers of attraction, but
met only with defeat. Katy, and even Helen, was preferred before
her--both belles of a different type; but both winning golden laurels
from those who hardly knew which to admire most--Katy, with her pure,
delicate beauty and charming simplicity, or Helen, with her attractive
face and sober, quiet manner. But Katy grew tired early. She could not
endure what she once did; and when she came to Wilford with a weary look
upon her face and asked him to go home, he did not refuse, though Mark,
who was near, protested against their leaving so soon.

"Surely Miss Lennox might remain; the carriage could be sent back for
her; and he had hardly seen her at all."

But Miss Lennox chose to go; and after her white cloak and hood passed
down the stairs and through the door into the street, there was nothing
attractive for Mark in his crowded parlors, and he was glad when the
last guest had departed and he was left alone with his mother.

Operas, parties, receptions, dinners, matinees, morning calls, drives,
visits and shopping; how fast one crowded upon the other, leaving
scarcely an hour of leisure to the devotee of fashion who attended to
them all. How astonished Helen was to find what high life in New York
implied, ceasing to wonder that so many of the young girls grew haggard
and old before their time, or that the dowagers grew selfish and hard
and scheming. She would die outright, she thought, and she pitied poor
little Katy, who, having once returned to the world, seemed destined to
remain there, in spite of her entreaties and the excuses she made for
declining the invitations which poured in so fast.

"Baby was not well--baby n