She graduates from the academy and is caught into the whirl of society,
and her life becomes what is called one round of pleasure--one round
certainly of parlor dances, social hops and grand balls with champaign
dinners and early goings home (early in the morning, _of course_).

This evening there is to be a ball of unusual grandeur. The last of the
season of gaiety, and the closing of the dancing-school term. Our friend
will surely be present. Let us attend. What a scene of beauty, gayety
and splendor. It must have been of just such scenes the poet wrote:

"There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then--
Her beauty and chivalry"--

But see, there is our friend of the dancing academy just entering on the
arm of her devoted father. Three months have passed since we first met
her. She is much changed, yet one can scarcely see in what the change
consists. The face is the same, yet not the same. There is just the
shadow of coarseness in it, a little less of frank innocence and true
refinement, and a trace, not exactly of ill-health, but a want of
freshness. This last is, however, well concealed by the use of
cosmetics, and she is still a very beautiful girl, and the fond father's
heart swells with pride as he sees the handsomest and most fashionable
gentlemen of the ball-room press eagerly forward to ask her hand for the
different dances of the evening.

Her father remains for a few of the square dances, but soon retires,
knowing that his fair daughter will not want for attention
from--gentlemen whose attentions he is sure must be desirable, certainly