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The old woman smiled again. It is a command. With a last lingering glance at the woman who has enthralled him, he steps out through the window on to the balcony, and in another moment is lost to sight. A loose stone that has fallen from its home in the mountain-side above uprears itself in the middle of this turbulent stream. But it is too far from the edge, and Mona, standing irresolutely on the brink, pauses, as though half afraid to take the step that must either land her safely on the other side or else precipitate her into the angry little river..

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"Because"—with a quick blush—"I am not accustomed to dancing much. Indeed, I only learned to-day, and I might not be able to dance with every one." "Nothing. Not all the talking in the wide world," with a brilliant blush, but with steady earnest eyes. "You will come first and see Philippa?" she says, in a slow peculiar tone that sounds as if it had been dug up and is quite an antique in its own way. It savors of dust and feudal days. Every one says he or she will be delighted, and all try to look as if the entire hope of their existence is centred in the thought that they shall soon lay longing eyes on Philippa,—whose name in reality is Anne, but who has been rechristened by her enterprising sister. Anne is all very well for everyday life, or for Bluebeard's sister-in-law; but Philippa is art of the very highest description. So Philippa she is, poor soul, whether she likes it or not. "And perhaps unused to society," puts in Violet, mildly. As she speaks she picks up a tiny feather that has clung to her gown, and lightly blows it away from her into the air..