den herself," laughed one old
gentleman.

"Why don't you children have a little dance?" asked the judge. "This
hall ought to make a good ball room, and you can take turns at the
piano."

"Oh, may we, Judge?" cried Grace in delight. "I am simply dying to have
a good waltz on this floor."

"I'll play for you for a while," volunteered Miriam, "then Eva and
Jessica can take my place."

Five minutes later the young folks were gliding about the big hall to
the strains of a Strauss' waltz, while the judge and his friends looked
on, taking an almost melancholy pleasure in the gay scene of youthful
enjoyment.

"Will you dance the next waltz with me, Miss Harlowe!" said Henry
Hammond to Grace, as she sat resting after a two-step.

After a second's hesitation Grace replied in the affirmative. Despite
her resolve to make peace with him, up to that moment Grace had been
unable to bring herself to the point of speaking pleasantly to him.

The waltz began, and as they glided around the room she was obliged to
acknowledge herself that Henry Hammond's dancing left nothing to be
desired.

"Perhaps my impressions of him are unjust, after all," thought Grace. "I
suppose I have no right to criticize him so severely, even though he was
rude to me the other night. I was rude, too. Perhaps he will turn out--"

But Grace's reflections were cut short by her partner, who had stopped
in the center of the hall.

"Miss Harlowe," he said with a disagreeable smile, "you are standing
directly under the mistletoe. I suppose you know the penalty."

Grace looked at him with flashing eyes. "Mr. Hammond," she replied,
flushing angrily, "you purposely halted under the mistletoe, and if for
one minute you think that you can take advantage of a foolish tradition
by so doing you are mistaken. When we girls coaxed Judge Putnam under
the mistletoe the other night, it was merely with the view of offering a
pretty courtesy to an elderly gentleman. None of our boys would think of
being so silly, and I want you to distinctly understand that not one of
our crowd is given to demonstrations of that sort."

"Miss Harlowe," replied Henry Hammond between his teeth, "you are an
insolent, ill-bred young woman, and it is plain to be seen that you are
determined to misconstrue my every action and incur my enmity. So be it,
but let me warn you that my hatred is no light matter."

"Your friendship or your enmity are a matter of equal indifference to
me, Mr. Hamm