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 self to a vantage-point and watched the throng. Quite unconsciously, his attention concerned itself with the two figures, mother and daughter, that dominated the scene. Priscilla blew about the room like a bit of thistledown, a white butterfly, as he put it to himself, while Mrs, Martin, regal, imperious, directed and managed it all, as ever, the power and motive force. As the evening wore on he wandered about, smoked, talked, and came back to his comparisons. As he stood watching, after an elaborate figure, he saw Mrs. Martin go to Priscilla and say a word, and then Priscilla, after an apparent moment of hesitation, came to him.

"Mr. Drake, mother is going to lead this figure, and I'm to rest. Will you take me away for a bit? I won't have to talk to you," she added, as she took his arm and led him to a seat in the music-room.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked, looking down at her.

"Oh, splendid!" she answered. "I'd no