have rushed at her father the moment he came in sight, and would have
put her arms around his neck and poured out the whole story. But Eugenia
had never felt on such intimate terms with her father. She admired him
extremely, and thought he was the handsomest man she had ever seen, but
her love for him was of a selfish kind. So long as he indulged her and
never opposed her will, she was a most dutiful little daughter, but as
soon as his wishes crossed hers she pouted and sulked.

To her surprise, he made no objection to her accepting the invitation to
the house party, except to say, half-laughingly, "Don't you think you
are a little selfish to want to run off and leave me alone when I've
scarcely seen you all winter?" Then he laughed outright as she made a
saucy little grimace in answer. He would miss her very much when she was
gone, for she was a bright little thing and amused him, but he had a
feeling of relief as well to think that a month of her vacation would be
pleasantly occupied. She had been so discontented away from her little
friends.

After dinner they strolled into an alcove, screened from the hall by
great pots of palms, and sat down to listen to the music, and watch the
people passing back and forth. It was a gay scene. Ladies in elaborate
evening gowns passed out with their escorts to the opera, or waited for
the carriages that were to take them later to balls or receptions.
Everywhere there was the gleam of white shoulders, the nodding of
jewelled aigrettes, the flashing of diamond tiaras. Above it all rose
the odour of flowers, the hum of voices, and the music of violins.

Mr. Forbes, smiling through half-closed eyelids at this passing of
Vanity Fair, looked down at Eugenia. She was leaning forward in a
picturesque pose against the arm of her high-backed chair. The light