"Ah!" said the colonel, "does Mrs. Edson make matches? I wish she would form one for me."
The modest maiden blushed scarlet at these words, and remained silent. A group was just passing, and the colonel effected his escape from his fair companion and joined them. Several voices called for him at the piano, and, seating himself before the instrument, he commenced a brilliant performance. In a few moments he became conscious of the form of Louise standing in the embrasure of a window near by, her whole soul apparently absorbed in the music. When he arose she had disappeared. He sauntered slowly to the hall door, and stepped forth upon the piazza. As he paced slowly down its marble length he came suddenly upon her, leaning languidly against a vine-covered column.
"Why do you fly your guests?" asked he; "they will soon grow dim without your presence."
"Because I am weary and dispirited," answered Louise, "and want quiet and fresh air."
"Dispirited!" exclaimed he; "I have never seen you so startlingly brilliant as to-night."
She shook her bright head mournfully. The hilarious voices from the merry groups within came full upon their ears.
"Walk with me a few moments in the cool quiet of the garden," said he; "here the air comes heavy and tainted from the crowded apartments within."
She placed her arm passively in his, and they passed down the steps and entered the shady paths.
"I marvel to find you so moody and glum," he remarked, after they had proceeded some distance in perfect silence, "when you have been so unusually gay through the evening."
She made no answer.