For your Creole girls are proud, and would die rather than let
the world see their sorrows.

Monday evening Theophile, the missing, showed his rather sheepish
countenance in Manuela's parlour, and explained that he, with
some chosen spirits, had gone for a trip--"over the Lake."

"I did not ask you where you were yesterday," replied the girl,
saucily.

Theophile shrugged his shoulders and changed the conversation.

The next week there was a birthday fete in honour of Louise,
Theophile's young sister. Everyone was bidden, and no one
thought of refusing, for Louise was young, and this would be her
first party. So, though the night was hot, the dancing went on
as merrily as light young feet could make it go. Claralie
fluffed her dainty white skirts, and cast mischievous sparkles in
the direction of Theophile, who with the maman and Louise was
bravely trying not to look self-conscious. Manuela, tall and
calm and proud-looking, in a cool, pale yellow gown was
apparently enjoying herself without paying the slightest
attention to her young host.

"Have I the pleasure of this dance?" he asked her finally, in a
lull of the music.

She bowed assent, and as if moved by a common impulse they
strolled out of the dancing-room into the cool, quaint garden,
where jessamines gave out an overpowering perfume, and a caged