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o'clock is striking, and I am standing before a looking-glass, admiring myself with a hearty appreciation that it would be folly indeed to expect any one else to feel. For the first time in my life I am en grande tenue. With something of the recklessness of a man who decides that, if he must be hung, it may as well be for a sheep as a lamb, I am arrayed with a sublime disregard for such vulgar considerations as pounds, shillings, and pence, as might well set the governor dancing a fandango if he were but here to see; not but what he will dance it safely enough over the bill. Out of my glistening dress of gauzę poppies burn redly, in great bunches at my side, and on my shoulder, and in my hair; they even twinkle cheerfully on my little white satin shoes, that look vastly pretty, but pinch most horribly.

A tap at the door, and enter Milly's maid with a bouquet, "With Mr. Vasher's compliments." As she retires I take it my hand. It is of blood red and yellow gold roses with a few ferns, and they look out of place with my vagrant wild flowers. I shall carry them though for all that. A supremely happy, well-dressed, blessed young woman I look as I take up my fan and gloves, and run lightly down the stairs.

My first ball! Will it be as disappointing, I wonder, as the fulfilment of most earthly wishes usually is? I make my way to the ball-room, wide and cool and lovely with the beauty of fair proportions, and delicate, brilliant dazzle of flowers.

The musicians are in their places, but nobody is visible, not even that mythical personage, the first arrival. Was ever any one known to confess that he or she arrived first anywhere! And yet some-