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 of social events, when the girls with handkerchiefs tied about their arms were the only men; then she looked about her at the beautiful ballroom—a dazzle of lights—the brilliant throng that moved about it, and men—there were apparently thousands. She glanced up at her mother, who was fairly radiant to-night, and recalled Mrs. Crompton's remarks in passing: "You may call it your swan-song, if you like, Louise, but it's the best song I ever heard you sing!" Whatever it meant, her mother had laughed gaily.

"I don't often go to balls, Miss Priscilla," said a familiar voice, "but I couldn't resist the temptation of coming to yours."

"Oh, goody!" she cried impulsively as she came out of her dream to find The Parson shaking her hand.

The Parson and Mrs. Martin laughed.

"Priscilla's flattery is direct," said Mrs. Martin. "Suppose you take her along and get her a cup of coffee, Parson; the poor child's tired to death already. I think every