Horton.
Henriette, yielding to the wishes of Ellen and her mother, and the
express commands of Mr. Horton, consented to join the party. She
entered the room with the dignity of a queen; but the scornful toss
of many a young head, and the averted gaze of many a familiar eye,
brought the deep blush of wounded feelings to her cheek, ere she
reached her seat. As she raised her eyes she met those of Henry Lorton
fixed upon her, with an expression that her woman's intuitive sense
easily read.
They had frequently met before, but had never formed any acquaintance.
Each one was winning a name. Henry Lorton had made rapid advancement
in his profession, and stood high in the estimation of his fellow men,
for honesty and integrity of principle.
Many a match-making mother would gladly have entrapped him for her
daughter, and many a daughter, perchance, might have accepted his
hand, had it been offered, but it was not. No one could elicit
anything beyond politeness from him.
He turned to a dark-eyed beauty, who sat beside him, asking her if she
was acquainted with Miss Clinton.
She blushed, stammered,
"Why, no; I am not now--that is, I used to be when she went into
society, that is before her father's death--before she was a
dress-maker."
Henry turned away, disgusted with this indefinite intelligence. For
a moment a slight smile of scorn rested upon his lip, and a darker
expression shaded his countenance; but it lingered not.
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