If Gurney expected to find society laying average householder, if it had been heard aside its court robes for the "Christmas of at all. The long strides made within romp," he was very much mistaken. Only a the last few years toward inoffending Art, very few people had been invited besides the and the crimes committed in her name, were owners of the children-twenty or thirty, per- unknown. Looking at the decorative queshaps but they made up in magnificence what tion in the light of sham versus sham, Mrs. they lacked in numbers. There was a subtle Russell's vulgar luxuriousness certainly had breath in this new atmosphere which Gurney the best of it. felt, but could not quite define. Mrs. Russell, a showy brunette, in a brilliant Paris gown, had eyes a little too bright, and lips a trifle too full and red; but she was almost defiantly self-possessed and triumphant, while her guests, especially the older ladies, lacked something of their usual vivacity. Gurney noted several new faces-Joe Forrington, seen every day at the clubs, but not more than once a year in society; Madame Flech, a ci-devant Austrian countess, and Mrs. Russell's chosen intimate: plump, blonde, ill-dressed, with cold, steel-blue eyes, but graceful, easy, and charming, as only a woman of Europe can be. Then there were more men and better looking ones than Gurney had ever seen before in what Jack called "the halls of pride," but they all had an air of being ineffably bored. Our friend himself was at first rather amused. The little party seemed to be a sort of dress rehearsal of the house and furniture before the best available critics, pending a more formal debut. Mrs. Russell had, a twelve-month before, left her husband to be tossed by the bulls and hugged by the bears of the stock menagerie, while she went to Europe to acquire what she thought necessary in the way of portable property and foreign polish. The result was now on exhibition. An unmistakable flavor of France pervaded the house. Moquette and Aubusson carpets, gilt clocks, buhl tables, much embroidered satin upholstery, many Watteau figures in Dresden china, pictures not all worth the hanging, statuary not all worth the setting up, but enough of good to give a connoisseur a chance to discriminate. Mrs. Russell had clearly asked for the best in the market, and if she had not got it, it was because she had fallen on evil counsellors. Estheticism was then only a big word in the dictionary to the It was a very pretty scene: the brilliant lights, the gayly dressed, eager children, the gas-log in the fireplace making a ghostly flame, the glittering tree beneath the satin hangings of the big bay window. Graves personated Santa Claus, and his humorous representation of that myth was accepted as the feature of the evening. The fact that this great man could throw off his dignity and forget his care with such unaffected ease greatly increased his popularity. Beside the gifts interchanged between the guests, there were costly bonbonnieres and elegant trifles for everybody from the hostess; and for a few minutes the rooms were filled with merry chorus of exclamation and shouts of laughter, as one after another received greeting peculiarly appropriate. Jack Crandall was as outwardly cheerful as though he had never met the giant Despair; as though life itself were a big bonbonniere filled only with sweets. Tina came up to him as he stood showing Gurney what seemed to be a rough oval of gold. "It's a charm for a rainy day," she said, with a little tremor in her voice, and an appealing upward glance. "Mr. Gurney wears one as a talisman, that's where I got my idea"; and she laughed slyly. "It opens-there's a picture in it shall I show you how?" and while poor Jack's heart beat heavily, she touched a spring, one side of the ball fell away, and showed an exquisite photograph of her pet terrier " Dandy." Jack looked at her reproachfully, and ther taking advantage of the situation, said it very distinct and ardent tones, "How can! thank you enough for this?" pressing th picture to his lips with a fine imitation o exaggerated passion. "Good Heavens! Jack," murmured Tina half laughing, half crying, and wholly despe ate, as she saw her father coming near-attracted by this by-play. "Don't, don't do that, don't be so absurd. What will papa think?" “Well, it was shabby to play me such a trick," said Jack, undismayed and unforgiving. Tina flashed him an indignant glance. "If you had waited a moment," she began "well, never mind now; what a pity you have such a bad temper," and she slipped away, leaving Jack much bewildered. Gurney received some graceful presents from his friends, and had in turn, aided by Mrs. Rivers's discreet judgment, provided offerings for those he knew well enough to approach with gifts. He had from Miss Graves a long, netted silk purse. "I am supposed to have made it myself, but I didn't," she said frankly. "I began it, and Helen finished it. It takes a good deal of trouble to get your money out of it, and then dollars and dimes all come tumbling out together; but you mustn't mind such little drawbacks, for it's very stylish. One of its beauties to me is, that you can see the glitter of the coins through the meshes, and it gives you such a feeling of wealth without opening your purse." Helen felt like refusing her one gift from Gurney an exquisite bauble of a vinaigrette or some such matter; especially when Mrs. Rivers whispered innocently that they had at first selected it for Mrs. Lawlor, but changed the order of giving. She thanked him so frigidly that he could not help smiling. "Yes, Mrs. Rivers and I flatter ourselves that, to quote Santa Claus, 'we did the thing up brown," he said coolly. "That will be very useful and convenient when you faint, and these tokens seem to be all selected for their use and convenience. You look about as grateful as the cook and nursemaid did, when they were handed those dingy alpaca dresses." Helen's anger rose with every word of this ironical speech. She bit her lips, and then impetuously held out the trinket. "I don't want it; that is, I'd rather not accept it; it's very expensive, and He took it without looking at her, and caught Tessie Lawlor's hand as she passed them just then. "Are you proud, Miss Tessie? too proud to wear a cast-off ornament?" with that softened, caressing intonation Helen had come to know so well, to listen for with such a quiet pleasure. "I'm very proud to wear anything you give me," murmured Tessie, blushing very much, and quite trembling at her own audacity. "Good!" coughed Gurney. "Miss Oulton has crushed me by refusing this; now let me hang it on that pretty silver belt, and I'll try to forget my mortification." Helen felt that she had been childish beyond measure, and would have been glad to blot out her impulsive words; but she had no time to show repentance, for Gurney went on talking, while he still held Tessie close to him. There was music for the children to dance, and very soon all the treasure-troves were deserted, and under a good deal of maternal supervision the little creatures were floating in and out like a swarm of summer butterflies. Some of the matrons left the room in a group. "Mrs. Russell is going to show us over the house," said a vivacious little woman to Gurney, as they passed him on their way up stairs. "Do come with us. Rivers says you have such good taste. Gentlemen don't usually care for details." Mrs. It was evident that she did, for nothing seemed to escape her speculative eye. She passed the tips of her ringed fingers carelessly over the pile of the velvet curtains, guessed where they were bought, and estimated their value with the decision of a professional decorator. She bent a moment to decide the birth-place of an inlaid table, and even rubbed her bronze slipper thoughtfully back and forth on the soft carpet, as though to determine another doubtful point. "We housekeepers are interested in all such things, you know," she said, with an apologetic little laugh, as she caught Gurney's glance of open amusement. But Mrs. Payson need not have been ashamed of her curiosity, for she seemed to be doing only what was expected of her. The canons of old-fashioned etiquette, which grown people ought to mix themselves up forbade praise of one's surroundings-of with the poor children and spoil their pleaswhat was, after all, only the sheath of the ures. You want to study up American charflower, the cup that held the acorn-did not acter, don't you," she went on amiably. seem to apply here. Everything was admired "Most of your countrymen do. I'm going unstintingly, and the talk assumed a foreign to introduce you to the typical American tone between those who had been abroad, girl." and knew the difficulty of collecting and importing these costly knick-knacks. Mr. Rus--representative American," said Lord Skye, sell himself, a spare, youngish man, with uneasily. clean-shaven face and prematurely gray hair, walked with them, looking at his possessions in a meditative, disinterested way, as if he now saw them for the first time. "Oh, it's all right, I suppose," he said, surveying a marble Bacchante, with his head on one side, while Mrs. Lawlor pointed out its beauties. "Yes, it's very pretty. I don't know much about these things myself. Mrs. Russell got it in Rome, I believe. Nice marble, isn't it? Cost enough to be pretty," and some anxious wrinkles crept about his mouth. "Oh, look here, Crandall," as Jack went by, and then there was a confused mumble" thousand shares Consolidatedsee-saw no collateral - sold short," and they walked away together, Mr. Russell having forgotten his teacher in Art and the art object under discussion. Mrs. Graves and Mrs. Lawlor came in rather late, bringing with them a sun-burned young man in evening dress, whom they introduced with subdued pride as "Lord Skye." Of course, he was at first turned over to Mrs. Russell for a while. "This is very different from your English Christmas," she said, deprecatingly. "Oh, you seem very jolly here,” he answered, with a shy glance around him. "Of course, it's different," he admitted. Tina, who had dined with him at home that evening, and had met him a good many times, was urged by her mother to show him some attention. "All right, ma'am," she said promptly, and with one of her sweetest smiles begged the young man to come and see the children dance. "Everybody's dancing now, though," she said carelessly. "No, thank you, I don't care to dance. I don't think that "I think I'd rather accept you as the-ah "Oh, but I'm not, at all," she said cheerfully: "I'm nothing in particular-just myself. Miss Terry," she continued, bringing him to a halt before the amiable Violet, "Lord Skye is anxious to be presented. The typical American girl is very fond of dancing," she murmured softly; and while Violet was pouring out a perfect cascade of platitudes, Tina, with half a dozen children clinging to her hands, was "hippetty-hopping back to the other room, looking in her short garnet velvet dress like the veriest child of them all. Mrs. Graves was thoroughly scandalized, but knew it was useless to cross swords with her willful daughter. Her careful discipline had been rewarded in her daughter Nellie, who had reached the highest degree of negative excellence; but in Tina's character her father seemed to find a reflection of his own bold spirit, and encouraged rather than condemned her recklessness. For his indulgence, Miss Tina was only carelessly grateful. She had her own code of honor, which, though rather warped and uneven, served her as a standard, and the ways and means of her father's limitless ambitions did not come within its lines. Her bright eyes saw a great many things not set down in the list of filial objects of interest. She knew very well that their every victorious step was tak en at a sacrifice of fair honesty, and one or two of the domestic virtues; and while she dressed and flirted, flitting restlessly from one possible pleasure to another, she stil looked with contemptuous eyes on the pleas ures themselves, and the hands that hel them within her reach. She saw how the cloak of worldliness which hid her mother' marital crosses and they were many—seen ed at the same time to shut away the mother-love and care Tina so longed for. She saw the selfishness of her father's showy munificence, the shallowness of his boisterous cordiality; and a good half of her impulsive acts were unconscious and impotent protests against a society which made possible such hypocrisies. To-night she watched her father as he bent over Mrs. Russell with very bold admiration in his keen, gray eyes, and felt anything but respect for the author of her being. "Did you know Nellie was engaged?" she asked suddenly of Jack, with whom she had easily made peace. "That's the reason she isn't here to-night. She's building a chateau d'Espagne to put her trousseau in." "Gaskell?" queried Jack, no whit surprised. manner. Tina nodded. "He's not what we would have chosen for our darling," she said, with a perfect imitation of her mother's stately "But since she has given her heart to him, we yield." And Tina dabbed her eyes with a scrap of lace handkerchief. "That is to say," in her own natural tone, "in spite of our own untainted ancestry we forgive him his plebeian birth, bad manners, and worse temper, in consideration of his three silver mines." If Jack had only known it, he could have won his sweetheart then and there; but he was afraid to destroy the delight of their perilous friendship by begging for anything more. It was so easy to play they were only friends, and so shirk responsibility and blame. Tina looked at him with a sort of air of partnership. "Take me away, please; dance with me, talk to me; I don't want to think about anything." There Gurney looked across the room in some dismay to where Mrs. Lawlor was waving him an invitation to come there to her. Helen was amusing herself and Lord Skye at the same time, that young traveler having evidently concluded his study of types, and taken to the study of individual character. Tina had disappeared with Jack. was no escape; and Gurney went over and sat down beside his friend on a glittering sofa, a little apart from the rest, and yet commanding a good view of the dancers in the room beyond. Tessie, who was leaning over the seat with her hand clasped in her mother's, greeted him with an eager smile and blush. "I must protest against your giving Tessie so many lovely things," said Mrs. Lawlor; "she is such a child, that they are all too handsome for her." "May'nt she keep them till she grows into a young lady, then?" he asked humbly, but the widow did not answer him. "My pretty pigeon," she said, with a caressing little pat on her daughter's hand, "run away now and enjoy yourself. You musn't mope here with me. Go and dance with little Tom Rivers. Upon my word," she added, turning to Gurney, as Tessie moved away obediently, "I don't know what to do with her," in an injured tone. "She is so awkward and shy. While I was in Europe last she was with her aunts, very good women, but such humdrum people. If the 'Sisters' can't take that ungainliness out of her, I shall have to try somebody else. She's not a bit like me anyhow-not a bit. She has no verve, no ambition, no style. Daughters are such a care," with an impatient little sigh, while some rather unamiable lines were interwoven with the classic features for which Mrs. Lawlor was so justly celebrated. It really seemed Tina had told the truth when "Well, upon my word," laughed Jack she said that the widow resented her child's but obediently whirled her off. There were not enough people to make the big house gay, and the festivities languished. Mrs. Russell, having shown her house and stripped her Chrismas tree, seemed at a loss what to do next. existence, and found her presence an irritant, though there were plenty of love-words and caresses given Tessie in company. "Well, never mind my poor gawky little girl," and this careful mother turned to her companion with a brilliant smile, and laid her fingers on his arm in a confidential way: "I want to talk to you about yourself." "Your range of topics must be limited when you choose such an uninteresting one," said Gurney, idly playing with her fan. "You're very good to talk to me at all when you have a title at hand." "Don't be sarcastic. Lord Skye can't help his title, and he's a very estimable young man. He had letters of introduction to Mr. Graves, and of course we have to be civil to him." She looked at Gurney as he bent his head over the painted Cupids; her eyes softened, and a faint color stole into her face. If there were any genuine feeling in her composition, it was her regard for the man at her side. And though she knew very well it could never be balanced on his part by anything but a friendly indifference, she kept up their amicable relations, wrote him charming letters, taking cold comfort in the fact that no one else could amuse or soothe or interest him as she did. "I want to give you a lecture," she said, after a pause, and then she hesitated. "Isn't this a pretty house?" with apparent irrele "Any sort you please." "And what have you to offer me in return for my independent solitude, oh, most charming of sermonizers?" turning to her with more serious attention. "Society? I've had enough to last me many a season. My latest social experience will serve as caviare to the rest of my monotonous life. Money? I have more than enough for my modest wants, for riches and poverty are only comparative terms after all, you know. Is there anything else?" "We would keep you from rust," the widow persevered. "What about moths ?" laughed Gurney. "You are incorrigible," and she frowned slightly. "What have you against us? Haven't we treated you well?" "Magnificently. So well that I'm not sure I understand such disinterestedness. So well that I'm bankrupt in thanks.” "Well?"— "Well, haven't I behaved prettily? Have I broken any of the by-laws of your order?" "Nonsense! You know very well that you've been one of our 'stars' this season. That's just what I complain of—you could be such a success, both in business and society." Gurney looked a little sulky. These personalities were somewhat distasteful to him. His glance wandered over the room and his face brightened. "Would you advise me to get married?" he said mischievously. Mrs. Lawlor blushed and then bit her lip. "It might do you good," she said stoutly. "It might?" he echoed, "you are not sure, then. I'm too old to try any doubt ful experiments. Well, in that case, my wife would adore the country"; fixing hi eyes on her with an inscrutable smile. "You wouldn't bury a woman in the back woods?" and she looked at him in di may. "On the contrary, I should make her pe fectly happy," he said cheerfully. There was another long silence, broke by Mrs. Lawlor, who said in a tone of co viction, "You ask too much of the worl It's a jolly old world if you choose to mal it so. I find it charming." |