Just then the two persons of whom they were speaking passed near to
them, Miss Loring on the arm of Dexter, her face radiant with
smiles. He was saying something to which she was listening,
evidently pleased with his remarks. The sight chafed the mind of
Hendrickson, and he said, sarcastically--

"Like all the rest, Mrs. Denison! Gold is the magnet."

"You are in a strange humor to-night, Paul," answered his friend,
"and your humor makes you unjust. It is not fair to judge Miss
Loring in this superficial way. Because she is cheerful and social
in a company like this, are you to draw narrow conclusions touching
her heart-preferences?"

"Why was she not as cheerful and as social with me, as she is now
with that fellow?" said the young man, a measure of indignation in
the tones of his voice. "Answer me that, if you please."

"The true reason is, no doubt, wide of your conclusions," answered
Mrs. Denison. "Genuine love, when it first springs to life in a
maiden's heart, has in it a high degree of reverence. The object
rises into something of superiority, and she draws near to it with
repressed emotions, resting in its shadow, subdued, reserved, almost
shy, but happy. She is not as we saw Miss Loring just now, but more
like the maiden you describe as treating you not long ago with a
strange reserve, which you imagined coldness."

"Woman is an enigma," exclaimed Hendrickson, his thoughts thrown
into confusion.