The Press., 1888-03-22

keep herself apart from him. They have already drffted 90 far apart that tonight, when the play has come to an end, and Florence has retired from the 1 dressing-room, Sir Adrian does not dream of approaching her to offer the congratula on her success that he l would have ShOWered upon her in 8 happier hour. .A
 Florence, feeling lonely and de- | pressed, having hstlessly submitted to her maids guidance and changed her stage gown for pale blue ball-dress of satin and pearls-as dancing is to suc- ceed the earlier amusement of the evening-goes silently downstairs, but, instead of pursuing her way to the ball. room, where dancing has already con- menced, she turns aside, and, entering a small, dimly lighted antechamber, sinks wearily upon a satin-covered lounge.
 From distance the sweet strains of German waltz comes to her ears. i There is deep sadness and melancholy in the music that attunes itself to her own sOrrowful reflections. Presently the tears steal down her cheeks. She feels lonely and neglected, and, bury 1 ing her head in the cushions of the i lounge, sobs aloud.
 | of footsteps until they stop close beside /, her, and voice that makes her pulse thrOb madly says, in deep agitation i "Florence-Miss Delmaine-what has happened2 What has occurred to dis treSs yOu?"
 Sir Adrian is bending over her, evil dently in deep distress himself. As she starts, he places his arm round her and raises her to sitting posture; this he does so gently that, as she remembers all she has heard, and his cousins as- surance that he has almost pledged himself to another, her tears flow afreSh. By supreme effort, however, she controls herself, and says, in a !, faint voice
 "I am very foolish; it was the heat, I 1 suppose, or the nervousness of acting before so many strangers, that has upo set me- It is over now: I beg you will not remember it, Sir Adrian, or speak of it to any One."
 l All this time she has not allowed her self to glance even in his direction, 30 fearful is she of further betraying the mental agony she is enduring.
 "Is it likely I should speak of itl" re- turns Sir Adrian responsibility. "No; anything connected with you shall be think you are in grief, and, believe me, in spite of everything, would deem it B privilege to be allowed to befriend you in any way"
 "It is impossible" murmurs Flor ence, in stifled tone.
 You mean you will not accept my help"-sadly. "So be it then. I have no right, know, to establish myself as your champion. There are others, no doubt, whose happiness lies in the fact that they may render you service when it is in their power. l do not complain, however. Nay, would even ask you to look upon me at least as a friend"
 "I shall always regard you as a friend" Florence responds in a low voice. Tt would be impossible to me "Thank you for that" says Adrian necessity be much apart, it will still be a comfort to me to know that at least, wherever you may be, you will think of me as friend"
 pang, "he is now trying to let me know how absurd was my former idea that he might perhaps learn to love mel" This thought is almost insupportable. | Her pride rising in arms, she subdues
 all remaining traces of her late emo tiOn, and, turning suddenly, cOnfrOnts him. Her face is quite colOrless, but she can not altogether; hide from him the sadness that still desolates her l eyes:
 1 You are right" she agrees. "In the , future our lives will indeed be far dis tant from each other, so far apart that the very tie of friendship will readily be forgotten by us both."
 ! Florence, do not say that! he en- treats, believing in his turn that she i a!ludes to her coming marriage with ] his cousin. "And-and-do not be an-
 gry with me; but I would ask you to ! consider long and earnestly before talk ing the step you have in view. Re- /; member it is bond that once sealed can never be cancelled"
 "A bondl I do not follow you," ex-
 claims Florence bewildered.
 ''Ah, you will not trust me; you will not cOnfide in mel"
 i "I have nothing to confde," persists Florence, still deeply puzzled.
 "Well, let it rest sO," returns Adrian, now greatly wounded at her deter
 mined reserve, as he deems it. He calls | to mind all Mrs. Talbot had said about her slyness, and feels disheartened. At least he has not deserved dlstrust at her hands. Promise me-" he entreats at last, that, if ever you are in danger, you will accept my help" T promise" she replies faintly. Then
 trying to rally her dropping spirits, she continues, with an attempt at smile, Tell me that you will accept mine should you be in any danger. Remem-
 Der, the mouse once rescued the lion!" .; and she smiles again, and glances at
 him with touch of her old archness. Tt is bargain, And now, will you rest here awhile until you feel quite re-
 stored to calmness?
 "But you must not remain with me" :" Florence urges hurriedly. Your guests are awaiting you. Probably with a
 faint smile-""yOur partner for this
 waltz is impatiently wondering what
 has become of you"
 "I think not, says Adrian, returning
 her smile. Fortunately l have no
 ones name on my card for this waltz. I say fortunately, because I think"-
 glancing at her tenderly-"I have been able to bring back the smiles to your face sooner than would have been the
 case had you been left here alone to
 brood over your trouble, whatever it
 may be-"
 | "There is no trouble" declares Flor
 ence, in a somewhat distressed fashion,
 turning her head restlessly to one side.
 q wish you would dispossess yourself of that idea. And, do not stop here, they-every one, will accuse you of dis courtesy if you absent yourself from the ballroom any longer"
 "Then, come with me-" says Adrian.
 "See, this waltz is only just beginning:
 give it to me-"
 Carried away by his manner, she lays her hand upon his arm, and goes with /; him to the ballroom. There he passes
 his arm around her waist, and present. ly they are lost among the thrOng of
 Whirling dancers. and both give them