"Blake had a handsome daughter; and when we had a ball for the Prince,
didn't he buy her a fine dress, and take her to it! She really looked
very handsome."

"I hope the Prince danced with her," laughed Sophia. Her good spirits
were rising, in spite of herself, under the influence of the liveliness
with which Miss Bennett's mind had darted, birdlike, into its own
element.

"_Yes_, he did. Wasn't it good-natured of him! I believe his
aide-de-camp told him who she was; but he was so gracious; he said she
should not go away mortified. I never spoke to her myself; but I've no
doubt she was unable to open her mouth without betraying her origin; but
perhaps on that occasion she had the grace to keep silent, and she
danced fairly well."

"Was her head turned by the honour?" asked Sophia, led by the other's
tone to expect a sequel to the tale.

"Poor girl! The end was sadder than that. She caught a violent cold,
from wearing a dress cut low when she wasn't accustomed to it, and she
died in a week. When we heard of it I was glad that he _had_ danced with
her; but some were cruel enough to say that it served Blake right for
his presumption. He was so broken-hearted he left the place. The dress
she wore that night was a green silk, and he had her buried in it; and
some one told the Prince, and he sent some flowers. Wasn't it sweet of
him! They were buried with her too. It was quite romantic."

"More romantic to have such a swan-like death than to live on as a