"Neither have I. The gown I speak of was bought for a musical party. It was given while I was with Aunt Elizabeth."
"Who gave it?"
"The gown?"
"Oh, no,—the party."
"Lady Lincoln. She has one son, Sir John, and I think it is he gives the parties. Aunt Elizabeth was so pleased that I was asked that she insisted on my going, though I cried, and prayed hard to be let stay at home. It was only"—dropping her voice, with a heavy sigh—"eleven months after papa had—had left me."
"It was cruel to force you to go against your will: but, when you were there, did you enjoy yourself?"
"I did," confesses Miss Broughton, with a blush. "I enjoyed myself more than I can say. I do not think I ever enjoyed myself so much in all my life. I forgot everything for the time being, and was quite happy. To me the flowers, the lights, the music, the pretty dresses,—everything,—were new and fresh, and helped to take me out of myself. And then, everybody was so kind, and Mr. Kennedy——"
"Who was he?" asks Clarissa, interested at once.
"A tall thin dark man, in the Guards,—the Coldstreams or the Grenadiers, I quite forget which. He talked to me all the evening; and, indeed, so did Sir John, Lady Lincoln's son; but I liked Mr. Kennedy best."
"Poor Sir John!"