They passed out of the door and began promenading the long walk. At the bottom of the alley he stopped, and, turning, looked up the vista of box ending in the brilliantly-lighted rooms, where gentlemen, with powdered heads, lace ruffles, and glittering knee-buckles, were handing ladies in stiff brocades, whose towering heads were shaded by ostrich-feathers and sparkling with gems.
"Quite court-like, on my word!" he said. "Tell me, do you often have such brilliant entertainments as this?"
"I suppose they do," said Mary. "I never was at one before, but I sometimes hear of them."
"And you do not attend?" said the gentleman, with an accent which made the inquiry a marked compliment.
"No, I do not," said Mary; "these people generally do not visit us."
"What a pity," he said, "that their parties should want such an ornament! But," he added, "this night must make them aware of their oversight;—if you are not always in society after this, it will surely not be for want of solicitation."
"You are very kind to think so," replied Mary; "but even if it were to be so, I should not see my way clear to be often in such scenes as this."
Her companion looked at her with a glance a little doubtful and amused, and said, "And pray, why not? if the inquiry be not too presumptuous."
"Because," said Mary, "I should be afraid they would take too much time and thought, and lead me to forget the great object of life."
The simple gravity with which this was said, as if quite assured of the sympathy of her auditor, appeared to give him a secret amusement. His bright, dark eyes danced, as if he suppressed some quick repartee; but, drooping his long lashes deferentially, he said, in gentle tones, "I should like to know what so beautiful a young lady considers the great object of life."