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“Thank you for such flattering words, aunt Helen. I will accept the pictures in your eyes as justly contrasted. Of one thing I am sure, I shall feel more at ease, and less conscious of observation, than would have been the case had I gone in my gayer attire. Good evening. It is growing late, and I must be away.”

The maiden stooped, and kissed her aunt affectionately.

“Good evening, dear, and may the hours be pleasant ones.”

When Alice entered the drawing-room, where the company were assembling her eyes were almost dazzled with the glitter of jewelry and the splendor of colors. Most of the ladies present seemed ambitious of display, emulous of ornament. She felt out of place, in her grave and simple costume, and moved to a part of the room where she would be away from observation. But her eyes were soon wandering about, scanning forms and faces, not from simple curiosity, but with an interest that was visible in her countenance. She looked for the presence of one who had been, of late, much in her thoughts: of one for whose eyes, more than for the eyes of any other, she apparelled herself with that studied effect which received so little approval from her aunt Helen. Alice felt sober. If she entertained doubts touching her change of dress they were gone now. Plainly, to her convictions, aunt Helen was wrong and she had been wrong in yielding her own best judgement of the case.

Alice had been seated only for a little while, when she saw the young man to whom we have just referred. He was standing at the extreme end of the room, talking in a lively manner with a gayly-dressed girl, who seemed particularly pleased with his attentions. Beside her Alice would have seemed almost Quaker-like in plainness. And Alice felt this with something like a pang. Soon they passed across the room, approaching very near, and stood within a few feet of her for several minutes. Then they moved away, and sit down together not far off, still chatting in the lively manner at first observed. Once or twice the young man appeared to look directly at Alice, but no sign of recognition was visible on his face.

After the first emotions of disappointment in not being recognized had subsided, the thoughts of Alice began to lift her out of the state in much she bad been resting.

“If fine feathers make the fine bird,” she said to herself, “let him have the gay plumage. As for me, I ask a higher estimate. So I will be content.”

With the help of pride she rose above the weakness that was depressing her. A lady friend joined her at the moment, and she was soon interested in conversation.

“Excuse me for a personal reference, Alice,” said this friend in a familiar way, “and particularly for speaking of dress. But the fact is, you shame at least one half of us girls by your perfect subordination of everything to good taste. I never saw you so faultlessly attired in my life.”

“The merit, if there is any,” replied Alice, “is not mine. I was coming like a butterfly, but my aunt Helen, who is making us a visit, objected so strongly that I took off my party dress and head-dress, made for the occasion, and, in a fit of half-don’t-care desperation, got myself up after this modest fashion that you are pleased to call in such good taste.”

“Make your aunt Helen my compliments, and say to her that I wish she were multiplied a thousands times. You will be the belle to-night, if there are many sensible man present. Ah, there comes Mr. Benton!” At this name the heart of Alice leaped. “He has spied you out already. You are the attraction, of course, not me.”

Mr. Benton, who had been, of late, so much in her thought, now stood bowing before the two young ladies, thus arresting their conversation. The last speaker was right. Alice had drawn him across the room, as was quickly apparent, for to her alone he was soon addressing himself. To quite the extent allowable in good breeding, was Alice monopolized by Mr. Benton during the evening and when he left her, with scarcely-concealed reluctance, another would take his place, and enjoy the charm of her fine intelligence.

“Have you been introduced to Alice T—-?” she heard one gentleman ask of another, as she stood near a window opening into the conservatory, and partly hidden by curtains.

“Yes,” was the answer.

“She is a pleasant girl.”

“By odds the most charming I have met to-night. And then she has had the good taste to dress in a modest, womanly manner. How beautifully she contrasts with a dozen I could name, all radiant with colors as a bed of tulips.”

She heard no more. But this was enough.

“You had a pleasant evening judging from your face,” said aunt Helen, when she meet her niece on the next morning.

“Yes; it was a very pleasant one–very pleasant.” Her color deepened and her eyes grew brighter.

“You were not neglected on account of you attractive style of dress?”

“Judging from the attentions I received, it must have been very attractive. A novelty, perhaps. You understand human nature better than I do, aunt Helen.”

“Was it the plainest in the room?”

“It was plainer than that of half a dozen ladies old enough to have grandchildren.”

The aunt smiled.

“Then it has not hurt your prospects?”

The question was in jest; but aunt Helen saw instantly into the heart of her niece. For a moment their eyes lingered in each other; then Alice looked down upon the floor.

“No it has not hurt my prospects.” The answer was in a softer voice, and then followed a long-drawn inspiration, succeeded by the faintest of sighs.

A visit from Mr. Benton, on the next evening, removed all doubt from the dress question, if any remained.