danced."

"In general they do," replied Lizzie, "but from peculiar
circumstances I am an exception to the general rule. If you desire a
partner in the dance, allow ne to present you to my friend, Bertha
Levy. She dances like a fay."

"Not just now, thank you, Miss Heartwell; if it is not impertinent,
I would like to know why you do not dance."

"Well, it's a simple story, quickly told; and if you will listen a
moment I'll inform you, if you desire."

"With pleasure. Go on."

"Melrose, my native home, in the State of --, is a quiet little
town, with little social life and less gayety. My mother, too, is a
widow, who has lived in great seclusion ever since my father's
death, which occurred when I was a little child. I have been her
only companion in all these years of bereavement and sorrow, and it
has never been her desire that I should indulge in any of the
pleasures and gayeties that young people are fond of. From these
causes my life has assumed a sombre tone that may seem, and indeed
is, unnatural in the young. Yet, as I have known nothing else all my
life, it is no trial for me to forego the pleasures that are so
alluring to you, perhaps, Mr. Marshall."

George Marshall made no reply, and for a time seemed absorbed in
contemplation. He had listened attentively to this simple, half-told
history of her life. And as he marked the gentle expression of her