Dexie lifted her eyes in surprise, and saw a lover’s face very near her own, and before she could retreat he had pressed her to his heart, and kissed her on both cheeks.

“For shame! look!” and she pointed to a mirror where their images were reflected.  “What would your mother say to such rudeness, sir?”

“I think she would say, ’Dexie, give Lancy one kiss for his trouble this afternoon.’  Don’t you think I deserve one, my Dexie?”

But Dexie flew past him and downstairs to the parlor, where her parents and Aunt Jennie were awaiting her.

“How do you like my looks, mamma?  Am I not pretty, for once?” she asked.

“If you had behaved as well as you look I would see no cause for complaint,” said her mother coolly; “but a ‘daw in borrowed feathers’ is never a pretty sight.”

“But, mamma, I am going to be just as good as I look, for this evening anyway; and I am sure, if my eyesight does not deceive me and my friends do not flatter, that I never looked better, so I’m content,” and she left the room to put on her outside garments.

She meekly submitted to the extra wraps that Lancy insisted on placing round her face, and she felt, as she stood beside him, that Lancy’s tenderness and love added not a little to her daily happiness, even though she had not just the same regard for him as he professed to have for her.

“I think I’ll drive down with Hugh,” she said teasingly, as they came down the steps to the street, where both sleighs were waiting.

“But I won’t let you,” said Lancy quickly.  “You are mine for this evening.  I have earned that much, surely.  I can’t spare you to anyone else, my Dexie,” and he lifted her in beside himself.

They drove quickly to the hall, and were soon in the dressing-room, among the bevy of young ladies who were to take part in the concert.  Gussie’s heart was pierced with envy as she noticed how much attention was bestowed on her sister, and she heartily wished that Dexie had kept to her refusal of the morning.

Mr. Ross noticed that his peace-offering was not appreciated, and wisely refrained from further remarks, giving the necessary directions in as few words as possible.

Very gay did the Temperance Hall look that evening, with its walls draped with bunting and its stage decorated with palms and other ornamental plants; and it never held a larger audience than now awaited the opening chorus, while the applause that filled the house at its close seemed to make the rafters ring.

The first selections were admirably performed, and were fully enjoyed by those present, but when that part of the programme was reached in which the “American Warbler” made her first appearance, the enthusiasm reached its height, and found vent in round after round of applause.

Lancy made his appearance first, taking his seat at the piano.  This intimated that he was not the “Warbler,” and the audience looked around in doubt, as if asking each other what next to expect.