WHEN Miss Trevennon, dressed for the ball, to join her cousin that December evening, she looked undeniably lovely, and so Mrs. Gaston admitted to herself with satisfaction. The young girl’s tall beauty was superbly displayed by this rather severe costume—with its heavy, gleaming drapery falling about her, white and plain. The flounces of rich lace made a splendid trimming for the long skirt, which trailed behind her in a , mass, and the body outlined to perfection her round and waist. The dress was cut high, and a fall of the lovely lace finished the throat and sleeves.
Miss Trevennon’s clear-cut, soft-tinted face was somewhat inanimate this evening. The ball had lost much of its charm since she had the in the morning. In the first place, the possibility of Charley Somers coming to Washington troubled her, and, in the second, Alan Decourcy’s words and looks, with a chance of their repetition this evening, made her uneasy. Besides these, there was a feeling of disappointment, all the keener for being unowned, even to herself, that Louis Gaston should not be here to welcome her back, and to share the interest and pride Cousin Eugenia so evidently took in her appearance at this ball.
Arrived at their destination, Mrs. Gaston and Margaret, escorted by General Gaston, were passing through the main hall on their way to the dressing-rooms, when they came upon Alan Decourcy, with a apparelled lady on his arm. She was a decidedly pretty woman, and Margaret observed that she clung to her companion with an air of the friendliest familiarity. She also observed that her pink gauze costume was somewhat decolleté, and that a of black stood in lieu of a sleeve across her white shoulder, a similar bit supporting a superb pendant of diamonds, which her fair, round throat.
This lady bowed affably to Mrs. Gaston, and regarded Margaret with a broad stare. Alan, of course, also, but for some reason Margaret avoided doing more than just glancing at him as she passed on toward the staircase.
“And so Mrs. Vere already has your cousin in her !” said Mrs. Gaston, as they were approaching the dressing-room.
“Was that Mrs. Vere?” said Margaret. “Who is she?”
“Oh, she’s one of the most of the married !” said Mrs. Gaston. “If Mr. Decourcy were not a man of the world and well able to take care of himself, it might be well for you to warn him. As it is, I feel no anxiety about him.”
“And who is Mr. Vere?”
“Mrs. Vere’s husband. He may or may not be here. He’s apt to turn up in the supper-room.”
Margaret said no more, but set herself to the adjustment of her toilet with a certain air of preoccupation. Having by a glance that her costume was in order, she stood looking very thoughtful as she waited for her cousin, whose touches here and there consumed a much longer time.
When the two ladies emerged from the dressing-room together, they found Alan Decourcy, with General Gaston, awaiting them. He had freed himself from Mrs. Vere, in some way, and offered his arm to take Margaret into the room. She laid her hand within it lightly, and they followed General and Mrs. Gaston in silence.
After they had spoken to their hostess and her daughters, Decourcy led Miss Trevennon away to make the tour of the rooms, which were with lights and flowers, and gorgeous to .
“There’s something very about this dress you are wearing, Margaret,” he said, in a tone that was sweet, “or is it, perhaps, my cousin’s lovely face and figure that make it appear so? You are looking your very best, yet I never saw you so of color.”
“It’s the contrast with Mrs. Vere’s gorgeousness, perhaps!” said Margaret, with a rather strained little laugh. “When did you meet Mrs. Vere, by-the-way?”
He turned suddenly, and looked at her with a glance of keen , but, seeing the utter unsuspiciousness of her frank gaze, he said carelessly:
“Mrs. Vere? Oh, she’s a very old friend! I hardly remember the time when I didn’t know Antoinette Vere.”
“Did you know of her being in Washington?”
“Yes, indeed; I saw her when I was in town, the other day. She lives here.”
“Why, I wonder you did not tell me you had this great friend living here, and make her come to see me!” said Margaret, in her honest way.
“I didn’t think of it,” he said, somewhat . “I didn’t suppose you’d care for it.”
He turned, then, and called her attention to some especially pretty bit of decoration, and Mrs. Vere was not mentioned again.
In a few minutes Mr. Leary came up to speak to Miss Trevennon, and, soon after, one or two other acquaintances appeared, and Margaret was for dances.
“I shall not dance this evening,” she said, forming the resolution suddenly. She had not thought of the matter before, but when the time came she found herself indisposed to dance. There were strong protests from the young gentlemen, but these her manner soon silenced, and when Mr. Leary offered his arm, to take her to look for a seat, she looked around for Decourcy and found that he was gone.
For a long while after this, she had not time to think of her cousin. Scores of people were presented to her, by Mrs. Gaston and others, and the General whispered to her that his popularity with the young gentlemen this evening was something phenomenal. She went into the drawing-room and looked on for a while, and though she kept to her resolution she might have had two partners for every dance, if she had chosen. Most of the men whom she declined to dance with manifested an entire willingness to stop and talk instead, and throughout the evening she was so well attended, that Cousin Eugenia, who had heard with quaking of her resolution not to dance, admitted to herself, in the end, that it had given her young cousin a more distinguished appearance.
When the evening was growing old, and the flowers began to and the music to flag; when the girls began to look the worse for too much dancing, and the men, in many cases, the worse for too much wine, Miss Trevennon, finding herself a little weary, yielded to the suggestion of her companion for the moment, who happened to be Lord Waring, and allowed herself to be led to a cool, dim in the , where she sank into a seat to wait, while Lord Waring went for a glass of water for her. It was very still and quiet here. Almost every one was occupied either in the supper-room or in dancing, and Margaret supposed herself to be quite alone, until the sound of low-toned voices arrested her attention. Turning, she caught sight, between the branches of some leaved palms, of the figures of a man and woman. The latter’s back was turned, but Margaret recognized the pink costume and smooth, bare shoulders. The head was raised to meet the gaze of the man who above her. This man’s face was turned full toward Margaret, and she, too, could see that gaze—a tender, look that, but a few hours since, had been bent upon herself. she closed her eyes, afraid to look longer, and feeling a quick of horror as she remembered that so recently this man had kissed her hand. Thank Heaven he had never, for one instant, touched her heart—that she cared not an atom for him! But suppose it had been different! Suppose the tenderness he had so successfully , the significant words she had so believed,............