The Press., 1888-03-22

~ag3ln. ny IN very nasAE A0OS nAS @SSoASA"0 tonight" ss.s IsiI SIT" gv-
 As a matter of fact Adrian had not
 anced with Mrs. Talbot all the even- 'ng until now, but Florence, not hay ,1g been present at the opening of the Lall, is not in position to refute this, as he well knows.
 "If there is anything in her friend ship with Sir Adrian, feel sure Dora would have told me of it," she says slowly, and with difficulty. =.
 And she hasn't?" asks Arthur with so much surprise and incredulity in his manner as goes far to, convince her that there is some truth i'll his state ment. Well, we'll" he adds, "One can not blame her. She would doubtless be sure of his affectiOn before speaking even to her dearest friend"
 on the seat as though unable to sus- tain an upright position any longer. Every word of his is as gall and worm wood to her, each sentence reminder "a reproach. Only the other day this man now beside her had accused her of making sure of Sir Adrian's affec- tion before she had any right so to do. Her proud spirit shrinks beneath the cruel taunt he hurls at her. ;. "You look unusually done up,' he goes on, in tone of assumed commits seration. This evening has been too much for you. Acting part at any time is extremely trying and labor ious."
 She shrinks still further from him. Acting q partl Is not all her life be- coming one dreary drama, in which she acts part from morning until night? Is there to be no rest for herr Oh, to escape from this man at any price! She rises to her feet.
 Our dance is almost at an end," she says; "and the heat is terrible. I can remain here no longer"
 You are ill.," going to her side. He would have supported her, but by gesture she repelS him.
 If I am, it is you who have made me so," she retorts, with quick passion, for which she despises herself an instant later.
 May, not l." he rejoins, but what my words have unconsciously conveyed to you. Do not blame me. l thought you, as we'll as every one else here, knew of Adrian's sentiments with re- gard to Mrs. Talbot"
 This is too much for her. Drawing herself up to her full height, Florence casts glance of anger and defiance in his direction, and, sweeping past him in her most imperious fashion, appears no more that night.
 It is an early party, all things con- sidered, and Dora Talbot, going to her room about two o'clock, stops before Florence's door and knocks softly thereon.
 Come in," calls Florence gently.
 q have just stopped for a moment to / express the hope that you are not i'll, dearest" says smooth-tongued Dora, advancing towards her; "How early how early only MT. Dynecourt told me. Are VOu SIlro VOu are not illw
 Mot in the least, only a little fatigu- ed," replied Florence calmly.
 "Ah, no wonder, with your exertions before the dancing commenced, and your unqualified success! You reigned over everybody, darling. Nobody could simply superb"
 Thank you," says Florence, who is not in bed, but is sitting in chair drawn near a window, through which the moonbeams are f1inging their pale rays. She is clad Ill a clinging white dressing-gOwn that makes her beauty saintlike, and has all her long hair fall ing loosely round her shoulders.
 "What charming evening it has been!" exclaims Dora ecstatically, clasping her hands, and leaning her arms on the back of chair. q hardly know when felt so thoroughly happy" Florence shudders visibly. "You en- joyed yourself, of course?" continues Dora. Every one raved about you. You made at least dozen cOnquests; one or half one" with careful hes itation in her manner intended to im- press her listener-"is as much as poor little insignificant me can expect"
 Florence looks at her questioningly.
 q think one really honest lover is worth a dozen others" she says, her voice trembling. Do you mean me to understand, Dora, that you have gained one tonight"
 Florence's whole soul seemed to hang on her cousin s answer. Dora shippers, and tries to blush, but ill reality grows a shade paler. She is playing for high stake, and fears to risk throw lest it may be ventured too soon.
 "Oh, you must not ask too much!" she replies, shaking her blonde head. "A lover-no! How can you be so ab surd! And yet think-I hope"
 "I see!" interrupts Florence sadly. "Well, I will be as discreet as you wish; but at least, if what imagine be true, l can congratulate you with all my heart, because I know-I know you will be happy"
 Going over to Mrs. Talbot, she lays her arms round her neck and kisses her softly. AS she does so, a tear. falls from her eyes upon Dora's cheek. There is so much sweetness and aban- donment of self in .his action that Do "a for the moment is touched by it. She puts up her hand; and, wiping away the tear from her cheek as though it burns her, says lightly But indeed, my dearest Flo, you must not imagine anything. All is vague. l hardly know what it is to which am alluding. 'Trifies light as air float through my brain, and glad den me in spite of my common sense, which whispers that they mean noth- ing. Do not build castles for me that may have their existence only en Es- pagne."
 "They seem very bright castles" ob- serves Florence Wistfully.
 "A bad omen. All that's bright must fade,' sings the poet. And now to speak of yourself. You enjoyed yourself"
 "Of course"- e"-mechanically.
 "Ah, yes; was glad to see you had made it up with poor Arthur Dyne- court!"
 "How?" demands Florence, turning upon her quickly.
 -"I saw you dancing with him, dear est; was with Sir Adrian at the time, and from something he said, think he would be rather pleased if you could bring yourself to reward poor Arthur's long devotion"
 "Sir Adrian said that? He discussed me with you" ",Just in passing. you understand.