"Come, Francesca!" said Clara Russell, breaking in upon this, "it is not
fair for you to monopolize my cousin Will, who is the handsomest man in
the room; and it isn't fair for Will to keep you all to himself in this
fashion. Here is Tom, ready to scratch out his eyes with vexation
because you won't dance with him; and here am I, dying to waltz with
somebody who knows my step,--to say nothing of innumerable young ladies
and gentlemen who have been casting indignant and beseeching glances
this way: so, sir, face about, march!" and away the gay girl went with
her prize, leaving Francesca to the tender mercies of half a dozen young
men who crowded eagerly round her, and from whom Tom carried her off
with triumph and rejoicing.

The evening was over at last, and they were going away. Tom had said
good night.

"You are to be in New York, at my uncle's, Clara tells me."

"It is true."

"I may see you there?"

For answer she put out her hand. He took it as he would have taken a
delicate flower, laid his other hand softly, yet closely, over it, and,
without any adieu spoken, went away.

"Tom always declared Willie was a little queer, and I'm sure I begin to
think so," said Clara, as she kissed her friend and departed to her
room.