horoughly at home. The lights in the parlor had been lit, and
Ellis, who sat talking to Major Carteret when the newcomer entered,
covered him with a jealous glance.

Slender and of medium height, with a small head of almost perfect
contour, a symmetrical face, dark almost to swarthiness, black eyes,
which moved somewhat restlessly, curly hair of raven tint, a slight
mustache, small hands and feet, and fashionable attire, Tom Delamere,
the grandson of the old gentleman who had already arrived, was easily
the handsomest young man in Wellington. But no discriminating observer
would have characterized his beauty as manly. It conveyed no impression
of strength, but did possess a certain element, feline rather than
feminine, which subtly negatived the idea of manliness.

He gave his hand to the major, nodded curtly to Ellis, saluted his
grandfather respectfully, and inquired for the ladies.

"Olivia is dressing for dinner," replied the major; "Mrs. Ochiltree is
in the kitchen, struggling with the servants. Clara--Ah, here she comes
now!"

Ellis, whose senses were preternaturally acute where Clara was
concerned, was already looking toward the hall and was the first to see
her. Clad in an evening gown of simple white, to the close-fitting
corsage of which she had fastened a bunch of pink roses, she was to
Ellis a dazzling apparition. To him her erect and well-moulded form was
the embodiment of symmetry, her voice sweet music, her movements the
perfection of grace; and it scarcely needed a lover's imagination to
read in her fair countenance a pure heart and a high spirit,--the
truthfulness that scorns a lie, the pride which is not haughtiness.
There were suggestive depths of tenderness, too, in the curl of her lip,
the droop of her long lashes, the glance of her blue eyes,--depths that
Ellis had long since divined, though he had never yet explored them. She
gave Ellis a friendly nod as she came in, but for the smile with which
she greeted Delamere, Ellis would have given all that he
possessed,--not a great deal, it is true, but what could a man do more?

"You are the last one, Tom," she said reproachfully. "Mr. Ellis has been
here half an hour."

Delamere threw a glance at Ellis which was not exactly friendly. Why
should this fellow always be on hand to emphasize his own shortcomings?

"The rector is not here," answered Tom triumphantly. "You see I am not
the last."

"The rector," replied Clara, "was called out of town