Wesley Elliot, who had by now reached the wide opening into the hall
in the course of his progress among the guests, glanced up as Fanny
Dodge swept the last step of the stair with her unfashionable white
gown.

"Why, good evening, Miss Dodge," he exclaimed, with commendable
presence of mind, seeing the heart under his waistcoat had executed
an uncomfortable _pas seul_ at sight of her.

He held out his hand with every appearance of cordial welcome, and
after an instant's hesitation Fanny laid her gloved fingers in it.
She had meant to avoid his direct gaze, but somehow his glance had
caught and held her own. What were his eyes saying to her? She
blushed and trembled under the soft dark fire of them. In that
instant she appeared so wholly adorable, so temptingly sweet that the
young man felt his prudent resolves slipping away from him one by
one. Had they been alone--...

But, no; Ellen Dix, her piquant, provokingly pretty face tip-tilted
with ardent curiosity, was just behind. In another moment he was
saying, in the easy, pleasant way everybody liked, that he was glad
to see Ellen; and how was Mrs. Dix, this evening? And why wasn't she
there?

Ellen replied demurely that it had been given out on Sunday as a
young people's social; so her mother thought she wasn't included.

They entered the crowded room, where Deacon Whittle was presently
heard declaring that he felt just as young as anybody, so he "picked
up mother and came right along with Joe." And Mrs. Daggett, whose