BLACK AND SCARLET.

There was almost riotous enjoyment in the opera-house that evening. From dome to foundation the vast building was one blaze of light; banners and rich draperies of blue, white, and scarlet, waved everywhere, giving the vast scene a military and tent-like gorgeousness. Never in her life had Constance seen anything so overwhelmingly brilliant. The crowd itself was a wonder to her, moving, chatting, laughing, swaying together in masses, breaking up and scattering again; it was like an ocean heaving after a storm, with summer lightning playing over it. The grotesque costume, the queer effect of the masks, and strange voices, filled her with childlike glee. There was enchantment in everything around her.

The man, on whose arm she leaned was a little annoyed by her outspoken delight; for she bandied words with many a strange figure, and carried herself with a certain abandon which seemed to displease him seriously. More than once he attempted to draw her toward one of the boxes, but she resisted him laughingly, and answered his remonstrances by casting some keen jest after the first strange man who looked back upon her.

Constance did not wear her blue silk that night, it had been prohibited at once. The long trailing skirt and fluttering lace might answer for a drawing-room, Church said; but there must be something more piquant found for the masquerade.

"One of the Seven Sisters"—a short dress that exhibited the feet. Well, he could not say that she had not pretty feet, it was only that he couldn't bear others to know it; but she was bent on the short dress, black with scarlet points, a double border, that would make her look like a flame.

Church had listened to all this, smiling in his cool, crafty way. She was, perhaps, right in her choice, the dash and spirit so natural to her, would give zest and piquancy to the character. So Constance went as one of the "Seven Sisters" in dead black, all aflame with burning scarlet. Ten minutes of astonishment, another ten minutes for observation, and the girl was perfectly at home in this motley crowd, where she fairly appalled her companion with the keen brilliancy of her wit and the sarcasm of her occasional dialogues. She danced, too; yes, in spite of his remonstances, she danced with the grace of a goddess and the spirit of a French woman; laughing at her partners from under her mask, and flinging away from them whenever the caprice took her. The tall man whom she addressed as "father," with a light, mocking familiarity, kept near her all the time; but there was impatience in his gestures, and something like rage in the glitter of his eyes, through the mask, whenever she gave herself up with that reckless abandonment to the dance.

"Come," he said, at last, seizing her by the hand, "we have had enough of this. I am tired of keeping guard over your flirtations."

"Oh! don't be cross, father; this is no place to scold a poor girl in. Dear, how you pinch my hand!"

She was half angry, and he felt the mocking tones of her voice as an insult.

"Had I dreamed of this, you should never have come here," he muttered, under his breath.

She did not understand him, but heard the broken words and laughed.

"Well, well," she said, taking his arm, "let us go and look on, it will be something to see all these people jostling each other; but I would rather dance. Oh! how much I would rather dance!"

"Then I will dance with you," said the man, almost fiercely, and seizing her around the waist, he whirled her into the crowd, and took her breath away by this impetuous movement. But the girl liked it, and liked her partner the better that he flung aside all grace and danced like a savage. Her feet kept time to his, a glow of intense delight shone upon her face. As the black and scarlet of her dress flashed in and out among the dancers, she looked like a beautiful fiend; for the mask revealed enough of her forehead and exquisite mouth to provoke general curiosity; and nothing could conceal the laughing brilliancy of those eyes.

"Now," said the man, as she paused, panting for breath, but with her foot advanced for a fresh start; and before she could speak, he fairly hurled himself and her into the vortex of dancers, and absolutely tired her down with sheer physical exertion.

"Yes," she said, with a struggle for breath, as he led her out of the whirl, "I am ready to go home now; that was something like a dance. I am glad no one could guess that it was my father I claimed to be dancing with. Yes, I am ready—which way do we go?"

The man motioned with his hand toward the door, out of which he wished to pass—and the two left the opera-house arm-in-arm.

While standing on the pavement waiting for the carriage to come up, a young man, who stood near the entrance, looking anxiously at every person that came out, drew close behind them, then stepped back irresolutely. That moment Constance said something and broke into a laugh, soft and mellow, as if she had fragments of a ripe peach in her mouth. Then the young man stepped softly forward and whispered in her ear,

"Constance, I must speak with you. Do not go to bed till I come."

The girl started, and the laugh on her lips broke off in a faint gasp; but she whispered back,

"Yes, yes; but do go away!"

"What were you saying?" inquired her companion, who had been looking toward the line of carriages.

Constance turned her head to make sure that young Sterling was gone before she answered.

"Nothing, nothing. I was only wondering if the carriage would never come up. Oh! here it is!"

Her foot was on the step the next instant, and, gathering her cloak about her, she sat down in a corner of the carriage, quite in darkness; but looking keenly through the window at a tall form leaning against one of the lamp-posts. All at once a new idea seemed to strike her; for she leaned forward and called out to her attendant, who was speaking with the coachman,

"Father! father! what are you waiting for? I am cold!"

The gaslight lay full on the young man's face; she saw it change and brighten. With a slight wave of the hand he turned away and disappeared. That word "father" had satisfied some anxieties that had been harassing him all the evening.

"Tell the man to drive fast, I am so tired!" said Constance, nestling back into her corner.

"He will drive fast enough without telling. You may be sure he is quite as tired as we are," was the careless reply. "After all, these public balls are an awful bore."

She did not care to answer this, being too anxious and weary for a contest of words. What could Sterling want to say to her at this time of night? Did he suspect who her companion was?

"It is too late, quite too late," she said, imperiously, as the carriage stopped. "Father will have been in bed these three hours; you must not come up stairs. Good-night—good-night! But stop, first take off the mask and domino, I will keep them for you."

Church took off the garments she mentioned, and was about to throw them over his arm, but she snatched them from him laughing.

"No you don't. I have said good-night."

With these words the girl darted into the hall, using her latch-key, and shut the door behind her, leaving John Church, stripped of his disguise, standing on the pavement, rebuffed and outgeneraled.

"What nonsense," he muttered. "I know the old fellow is up and watching. How he did hate it when I insisted on taking her. We will give him something to sulk about before all this is over."