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though purse-proud and vulgar, had a good heart.

“Hem!” said Mrs. Smith, dubiously. “But, as you say so, we‘ll have her.”

“Yes! my dear," retorted Mr. Smith, assuming a grand air, “we’ll have her. It won’t dot to drop all our old acquaintances, or people will say we’re stuck up, you know.”

Lucy and her mother received, accordingly, a few days after, an engravad card, as follows:

ﬁr. Ins ﬁrs. ﬂugustus Smith's

COMPUMESTB

For Thursday evening. January the 21st,

343 Sandstone Street.

This card was enclosed in a white envelope, stamped with the Smith arms, and was left at the door by a footman in livery.

The Darcies belonged to what is called “an old family.” One Darcie had been governor, in the colony days. Another had fallen at Princeton, at the head of his regiment. The father of Lucy, the last of his line, had been a brilliant young lawyer, but had died early, and had left behind little but his patrimonial estate, which, though greatly reduced from what it had been in former generations, consisted still, as the Darcies reﬂected with pride, of properties that had been in the family for a hundred and ﬁfty years. Lucy, who remembered their narrow means, and knew that accepting the invitation would involve the purchase of an evening dress, would haves sent a regret, but Mrs. Darcie, who wished to see her daughter’s beauty and accomplishments appreciated, over-ruled her.

The dress was bought, and made up—we are not ashamed to say—principally by the nimble and tasteful ﬁngers of Lucy herself. It was a simple white cambric, prettily trimmed; and when Lucy came down, on the evening of the party, she looked like a fresh rose-bud, on the brightest June morning of all the year. Wei think the birds would have sung if they hadi been there to see her. We happen to know that the obsequious African, who let her and her mother in, saying, “ladies second story front, gemmen second story back,” opened his big, yellow eyes with admiring amazement, and announced afterward in the kitchen, “dat do most ’scratic and beautiful young lady dare, was Miss Darcie, deed she was.” And afterward, when Lucy and her mother descended to the parlors, the three bashful bachelors, who stood in the doorway, afraid to go further, were thrown into such a ﬂutter of excitement, that they did not get over it for the whole evening, but followed Lucy with their eyes wherever she went.

Mrs. Smith was delighted, so she said, to see “dear Mrs. Darcie and her sweet daughter.” Mr. Smith twirled his watch-keys and was quite patronizing. He would mention to them, he said, some of the company. This was Count. Swindleskenski, a Polish exile: “Very high bred, indeed; but not a bit proud: had come quite early, as if an old friend: Amelia Ann,” this was the eldest daughter of the Smiths, “had entertained him, for an hour, with music

COUKI' mlDLlSKlNSXl LTD MISS SHIT!!

and singing, before the rest of the company arrived.” That was young Mr. Poultney, of the Poultney Manor family, very high people, “quite a catch for any young lady, even the richest." Lucy thought, looking at the frank, handsome face, that Mr. Poultney, in other re-