ore the Miss Jones' were the heroines of the evening.

"I declare it is very nice," Ada said to her sister that night, when
they got home to Mrs. D'Arcy's, "because it got for us the pick of
all the partners."

"It got for you one partner, at any rate," said Edith, "either the
boycotting or something else." Edith had determined that it should be
so; or had determined at any rate that it should seem to be so. In
her resolution that the hero of the day should fall in love with her
sister, she had almost taught herself to think that the process had
already taken place. It was so natural that the bravest man should
fall in love with the fairest lady, that Edith took it for granted
that it already was so. She too in some sort was in love with her own
sister. Ada to her was so fair, so soft, so innocent, so feminine and
so lovable, that her very heart was in the project,--and the project
that Ada should have the hero of the hour to herself. And yet she too
had a heart of her own, and had told herself in so many words, that
she herself would have loved the man,--had it been fitting that she
should burden him with such a love. She had rejected the idea as
unfitting, impossible, and almost unfeminine. There was nothing in
her to attract the man. The idea had sprung up but for a moment, and
had been cast out as being monstrous. There was Ada, the very queen
of beauty. And the gallant hero was languishing in her smiles. It was
thus that her imagination carried her on, after the notion had once
been entertained. At the ball Edith did in fact dance with Captain
Clayton quite as often as did Ada herself, but she danced with him,
she said, as the darling sister of his supposed bride. All her talk
had been about Ada,--because Edith had so chosen the subject. But
with Ada the conversation had all been about Edith, because the
Captain had selected the subject.

We all know how a little party is made up on such occasions. Though
the party dance also with other people on occasions, they are there
especially to dance with each other. An interloper or two now and
again is very useful, so as to keep up appearances. The little
warrior whom Edith had ill-naturedly declared to be four feet and a
half high, but who was in truth five feet and a half, made up the
former. Frank did not do much dancing, devoting himself to thinking
of Rachel O'Mahony. The little man, who was a distinguished officer
named Captain Butler, of the West Bromwich, had a