A Good-For-Nothing | Page 4

processions, its parliamentary gatherings, and its
leisure, as well as the rest. He was certainly not the man to be
sentimental over the loss of a young girl whom, moreover, he had only
known for a few weeks. Nevertheless, he thought of her at odd times,
but not enough to disturb his pleasure. The standing of his family, his
own handsome appearance, and his immaculate linen opened to him the
best houses of the city, and he became a great favorite in society. At
lectures he was seldom seen, but more frequently in the theatres, where
he used to come in during the middle of the first act, take his station in
front of the orchestra box, and eye, through his lorgnette, by turns, the
actresses and the ladies of the parquet.

II
Two months passed, and then came the great annual ball which the

students give at the opening of the second semester. Ralph was a man
of importance that evening; first, because he belonged to a great family;
secondly, because he was the handsomest man of his year. He wore a
large golden star on his breast (for his fellow-students had made him a
Knight of the Golden Boar) and a badge of colored ribbons in his
buttonhole.
The ball was a brilliant affair, and everybody was in excellent spirits,
especially the ladies. Ralph danced incessantly, twirled his soft
mustache, and uttered amiable platitudes. It was toward midnight, just
as the company was moving out to supper, that he caught the glance of
a pair of dark-blue eyes, which suddenly drove the blood to his cheeks
and hastened the beating of his heart. But when he looked once more
the dark-blue eyes were gone, and his unruly heart went on hammering
against his side. He laid his hand on his breast and glanced furtively at
his fair neighbor, but she looked happy and unconcerned, for the flavor
of the ice cream was delicious. It seemed an endless meal, but, when it
was done, Ralph rose, led his partner back to the ballroom, and hastily
excused himself. His glance wandered round the wide hall, seeking the
well-remembered eyes once more, and, at length, finding them in a
remote corner, half hid behind a moving wall of promenaders. In
another moment he was at Bertha's side.
"You must have been purposely hiding yourself, Miss Bertha," said he,
when the usual greetings were exchanged. "I have not caught a glimpse
of you all this evening, until a few moments ago."
"But I have seen you all the while," answered the girl, frankly. "I knew
you at once as I entered the hall."
"If I had but known that you were here," resumed Ralph, as it were
invisibly expanding with an agreeable sense of dignity, "I assure you
you would have been the very first one I should have sought."
She raised her large grave eyes to his, as if questioning his sincerity;
but she made no answer.
"Good gracious!" thought Ralph. "She takes things terribly in earnest."

"You look so serious, Miss Bertha," said he, after a moment's pause. "I
remember you as a bright-eyed, flaxen-haired little girl, who threw her
German exercise-book to me across the yard, and whose merry laughter
still rings pleasantly in my memory, I confess I don't find it quite easy
to identify this grave young lady with my merry friend of three years
ago."
"In other words, you are disappointed at not finding me the same as I
used to be."
"No, not exactly that; but--"
Ralph paused and looked puzzled. There was something in the
earnestness of her manner which made a facetious compliment seem
grossly inappropriate, and in the moment no other escape suggested
itself.
"But what?" demanded Bertha, mercilessly.
"Have you ever lost an old friend?" asked he, abruptly.
"Yes; how so?"
"Then," answered he, while his features lighted up with a happy
inspiration--"then you will appreciate my situation. I fondly cherished
my old picture of you in my memory. Now I have lost it, and I can not
help regretting the loss. I do not mean, however, to imply that this new
acquaintance--this second edition of yourself, so to speak--will prove
less interesting."
She again sent him a grave, questioning look, and began to gaze
intently upon the stone in her bracelet.
"I suppose you will laugh at me," began she, while a sudden blush
flitted over her countenance. "But this is my first ball, and I feel as if I
had rushed into a whirlpool, from which I have, since the first rash
plunge was made, been vainly trying to escape. I feel so dreadfully
forlorn. I hardly know anybody here except my cousin, who invited me,

and I hardly think I know him either."
"Well, since you are irredeemably committed," replied