Bressant

"What a glorious arch!" exclaimed Cornelia.

"It was put there for us, was it not?" rejoined Bressant.

Some of the other guests had come out in time to see the latter part of

this spectacle, as it trembled athwart the heavens. They "Oh'd" and

"Ah'd" in vast astonishment and admiration; and one of them humorously

asserted that it had been engaged, at a huge expense, to celebrate the

anniversary of American Independence. So the celestial arch vanished in

the echo of a horse-laugh. But Bressant and Cornelia, as they stood

silently arm-in-arm, felt as if it were rather the presage of an

emancipation of their own selves. From, or to what, they did not ask;

nor did the old superstition, that such signs foretell ruin and

disaster, recur to their minds until long afterward.

Dancing was now recommenced, but, by an unuttered agreement, the two

refrained from participating again. The enjoyment had been too entire to

risk a repetition. They sat down in one of the small boudoirs, which,

through a demoralized corridor, commanded a view of the extremity of one

of the dancing-rooms.

From this vantage-ground they could see the distinctive features of the

assembly pass before their eyes. Girls who danced well striving to look

graceful in the arms of men who danced ill, or floundering women

bringing disgrace and misery upon embracing men. Dancers of the old

school, whose forte lay in quadrilles and contra-dances, cutting strange

capers, with faces of earnest gravity. People smiling whenever spoken

to, and without hearing what was said; and on-lookers smiling, by a sort

of photographic process, at fun in which they had no concern.

Introductions, where the lady was self-possessed and bewitching, the

gentleman monosyllabic and poker-like; others, where he was off-hand,

ogling, and facetious; she, timid, credulous, and blushing. All kinds of

costumes, from the solitary dress-coat, and low-necked ball-dress, worn

respectively by Mr. and Mrs. Van Brueck from Albany, to the mixed tweed

sack and trousers, and the checked gingham, adorning the Browne boy and

girl.

"How foolish it all seems when you're not doing it yourself!" remarked

Cornelia at last, laughing softly.

"But very wise when you are."

"How beautifully you danced! I didn't know you could."

"I never did before--I couldn't, with any one but you. As soon as we

touched each other, I felt every thing through you."

"It was very strange, wasn't it? and yet I don't wonder at it, somehow."

"It would have been stranger not to have been so."

"Why, how have you been hearing what I said?" suddenly exclaimed

Cornelia, looking at him in surprise; "I've been almost whispering all

this time!"

"Have you? It sounded loud enough to me. But I could hear you think

to-night, I believe. Will it be so to-morrow, do you suppose?"