Chorus of shallow females. "How well he
waltzes."

But they noted neither praise nor detraction:
they saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing, but
themselves and the other music, till two valsers
a deux temps took "a tremendous header" into
them. Thus smartly reminded they had not
earth all to themselves, they laughed good
humouredly, and paused.

"Ah! I am happy!" gushed from Julia. She
blushed at herself, and said severely, "You
dance very well, sir:" this was said to justify
her unguarded ejaculation, and did, after a
fashion. "I think it is time to go to mamma."

"So soon. And I had so much to say to
you."

"Oh, very well. I am all attention."

The sudden facility offered set Alfred
stammering a little. "I wanted to apologise to you
for something—you are so good you seem to have
forgotten it—but I dare not hope that—I mean
at Henley—when the beauty of your character,
and your, goodness, so overpowered me, that a
fatal impulse——"

"What do you mean, sir?" said Julia, looking
him full in the face, like an offended lion, while,
with true feminine and Julian inconsistency her
bosom fluttered like a dove. "I never exchanged
one word with you in my life before to-day; and
I never shall again, if you pretend the contrary."

Alfred stood stupified, and looked at her in
piteous amazement.

"I value your acquaintance highly, Mr. Hardie,
now I have made it, as acquaintances are made;
but please to observe, I never saw you before
scarcely; not even in church."

"As you please," said he, recovering his wits
in part. "What you say I'll swear to."

"Then I say, never remind a lady of what you
should wish her to forget."

"I was a fool. And you are an angel of tact
and goodness."

"Oh, now I am sure it is time to join mamma,"
said she, in the dryest, drollest, way. "Valsons."

They waltzed down to Mrs. Dodd, exchanging
hearts at every turn, and they took a good many
in the space of a round table, for in truth both
were equally loth to part.

At two o'clock, Mrs. Dodd resumed commonplace
views of a daughter's health, and rose
to go.

Her fly had played her false, and, being our
island home, it rained buckets. Alfred ran,
before they could stop him, and caught a fly.
He was dripping. Mrs. Dodd expressed her
regrets; he told her it did not matter; for him
the ball was now over, the flowers faded, and the
lights darkness visible.

"The extravagance of these children!" said
Mrs. Dodd to Julia, with a smile, as soon as he
was out of hearing. Julia made no reply.

Next day she was at evening church: the
congregation was very sparse. The first glance
revealed Alfred Hardie standing in the very next
pew. He wore a calm front of conscious rectitude;
under which peeped sheep-faced misgivings as to
the result of this advance; for. like all true lovers,
he was half impudence, half timidity; and both on
the grand scale.

Now Julia in a ball-room was one creature,
another in church. After the first surprise,
which sent the blood for a moment to her cheek,
she found he had come without a prayer-book.
She looked sadly and half reproachfully at him;
then put her white hand calmly over the wooden
partition, and made him read with her out of her
book. She shared her hymn-book with him, too,
and sang her Maker's praise modestly and soberly
but earnestly, and quite undisturbed by her
lover's presence.

It seemed as if this pure creature was drawing
him to heaven holding by that good book, and
by her touching voice. He felt good all over.
To be like her he tried to bend his whole mind
on the prayers of the church, and, for the first
time, realised how beautiful they are.

After service he followed her to the door.
Island home again, by the pailful; and she had
a thick shawl but no umbrella. He had brought
a large one on the chance; he would see her
home.

"Quite unnecessary; it is so near."

He insisted; she persisted; and, persisting,
yielded. They said but little; yet they seemed
to interchange volumes, and, at each gaslight
they passed, they stole a look, and treasured it
to feed on.

That night was one broad step more towards
the great happiness, or great misery, which
awaits a noble love. Such loves, somewhat rare
in Nature, have lately become so very rare in
Fiction, that I have ventured, with many
misgivings, to detail the peculiarities of its rise and
progress. But now for a time it advanced on
beaten tracks; Alfred had the right to call at
Albion Villa, and he came twice; once when
Mrs. Dodd was out. This was the time he
stayed the two hours.

A Mrs. James invited Jane and him to tea and
exposition. There he met Julia and Edward,
who had just returned. Edward was taken with
Jane Hardie's face and dovelike eyes; eyes that
dwelt with a soft and chastened admiration on
his masculine face and his model form, and their
owner felt she had received "a call" to watch
over his spiritual weal. So they paired off.

Julia's fluctuating spirits settled now into a
calm, demure, complacency. Her mother, finding
this strange remedial virtue in youthful
society, gave young parties, inviting Jane and
Alfred in their turn. Jane hesitated, but, as she
could no longer keep Julia from knowing her
worldly brother, and hoped a way might be
opened for her to rescue Edward, she relaxed her
general rule, which was, to go into no company
unless some religious service formed part of the
entertainment. Yet her conscience was ill at
ease; and, to set them an example, she took care,
when she asked the Dodds in return, to have a