Her eye fell upon the rich bracelet that clasped her arm, a gift of
her brother, and then with a sad smile, she surveyed the pure dress
of delicate white she wore. "Ah!" she sighed, "I am robed for a
scene of gayety, but how sad the heart that beats beneath this
boddice! How glad I was to escape from the company; loneliness in
the crowd is so sad a feeling." At that moment the door of her room
opened, and Alice came laughing in, her glowing face all bright and
careless.

"Oh! Aunt Mary," she exclaimed, "do help me! I cannot unclasp my
necklace, and my patience has all oozed out at the tips of my
fingers. There! you have unfastened it already. Well! I believe I
never will be good for anything!" And Alice laughed as heartily, as
if the idea was charming. "When did you leave the parlours, Aunt
Mary? I never missed you at all. Father said you left early, when I
met him just now on the stairs."

"I did leave early," replied Miss Clinton. "I chanced to feel like
being entirely alone, so I sought my own apartment."

"Have you been reading, aunt? I should think you would feel lonely!"

"I read very little," was the reply, in a sad tone. No remark was
made on her loneliness.

"It seems so strange to me, Aunt Mary, that you are so fond of being
alone. I like company so much," said Alice, looking in her quiet
face. "But I must go," she added; she paused a moment, then pressed
an affectionate kiss upon her aunt's cheek, and whispered a soft
"good night." Miss Clinton cast both arms around her, and drew her