"Isn't she an elegant woman!" exclaimed a young man in an under tone, to a friend, who stood near Henry Clarence, as Melvina swept into the room dressed in a style of elegance and effect that attracted every eye.
"Beautiful!" responded his companion. "I must dance with her to-night. I always make a point to have one round at least with the belle of the ball-room."
The individual who last spoke, was well known to all in that room as the betrayer of innocence. And Henry Clarence felt his cheek burn and his heart bound with an indignant throb as he heard this remark.
"He will be disappointed, or I am mistaken," he said to himself as the two, who had been conversing near him, moved to another part of the room. "But if Melvina Fenton has so little of that sensitive innocence, that shrinks from the presence of guilt as to dance with him, and suffer her hand to be touched by his, my mind is made up. I will never marry her."
"She is the queen of beauty to-night, Clarence," said a friend coming to Henry's side, and speaking in an under tone.
"She is, indeed, very beautiful; but I cannot help thinking a little too showy. Her dress would be very good for the occasion were those variegated roses taken from their blue ground. Flowers never grow on such a soil; and her head dress is by far too conspicuous, and by no means in good taste."
"Why you are critical to-night, Clarence. I thought Melvina one of your favorites?"
"I must confess a little good will towards her, and perhaps that is the reason of my being somewhat particular in my observation of her style of dress. Certainly, she makes a most decided sensation here to-night; for every eye is upon her, and every tongue, that I have yet heard speak is teeming with words of admiration."
"That she does," responded the friend. "Every other girl in the room will be dying of envy or neglect before the evening is over."
"That would speak little for the gallantry of the men or the good sense of the young ladies," was the quiet reply.