"Of course! Mr. Chauncey introduced you and your sister as the two Misses Tranyon."

"Oh, I see. The _Missus_ Tranyon fooled you!" replies the catechized one with a grin. "I am _Mrs._ Tranyon Number One, and Christine's _Mrs._ Tranyon Number Two," and is astounded to see Mrs. Livingston grow pale and fly from her, muttering faintly, "Help!"

But the explanation of the Mormon lady has so horrified the widow that she forgets all about Oliver and his jealousy, and makes an immediate attempt to take her charges home even before supper. But they will not go; for Louise is enjoying herself very greatly, and Ferdie has struck up a flirtation with the prettiest Mormon girl in the room, and is asking her with pathos in his voice how she thinks she would enjoy living in New York.

"Quite well," answers that young lady. Then she giggles with the simplicity peculiar to the maidens of Deseret:

"Ain't you already married to that fair-haired blonde you are dancing with so much? Have you explained to her I am to be her sister?"--a proposition that so startles Mr. Chauncey that he dodges the Mormon maiden for the rest of the evening.

As for Erma, to Mrs. Livingston's suggestion that they leave the ball at once, she replies shortly, "What! and break _all_ my engagements?"

omitting, however, to state that most of them are to Captain Lawrence, and continues dancing with this gentleman, to the rage of Mr. Oliver, who goes to sulking and leaves her alone.

Mr. Kruger also noticing the same, thinks to himself, "Time for Lot to put his oar in." He has already greeted Miss Travenion at odd times when he has pa.s.sed with affable nods and "How do's?" and "Having a good time, Sissy?" and such expressions of interest.

He now comes to her and says, stroking his newly cut beard, "What do you promise me, Miss Ermie, if I bring you and your daddy together to-morrow?"

"Anything," replies the girl, excitedly.

"Very well; you shall see Pop to-morrow, for one dance this evening."

"Why, my programme is already full," demurs Miss Travenion.

"Well, steal one for me. Perhaps that Lawrence chap could spare one.

Reckon he's down on your card a few times more," he guffaws.

"Very well," says the girl hurriedly. "Take the Virginia reel," for she is desperately afraid of dancing a waltz with the athletic Lot, whose feet must go somewhere and have very little respect for the toes of his partner. Then she adds: "But remember, if I keep my promise this evening, you will keep yours to-morrow?"

"Oh, sure as boys like to kiss," cries Lot merrily. This compels an explanation to Captain Lawrence, which is not received very well, that gentleman growing Hector-like and muttering, "So you rob me for the benefit of one of my enemies?"

"One of your enemies?"

"Yes, this man Kruger is part owner in the Mormon company that is fighting for my mine,--he and that villain Tranyon," he explains, "and you dance with _him_?"

"Why not," says the girl, growing haughty. "Have I not been generous to you this evening?" Then she pouts, "You've had _all_ my dances. What more do you want?"

"Supper!" cries Harry decidedly.

"Supper? Of course I want some also," laughs Miss Travenion merrily.

"It's going on now," and she places her fingers on Lawrence's arm, though she is very well aware that the privilege of escorting her to midnight refreshment will be considered by Ollie as his "very own." But Erma is just tasting of the fruit called "first love," and will eat it, though it cost her as much as the apple did Mother Eve.

So, seated in a shady nook made by two flowering shrubs on the balcony, she watches and admires the athletic figure of the gentleman she has made her hero ever since she saw him save Ferdie's life, as he forages for her. This he does with as much vigor as one of Sherman's b.u.mmers on the March to the Sea, and with such a curious knowledge of her tastes that the girl wonders how he guesses all her pet dainties,--not knowing that the gentleman now her escort had had his eyes upon her during every meal she had taken between Omaha and Ogden.

"Why, this is marvellous--just what I wanted. How did you guess?" laughs the young lady as he places his spoils before her, and the two sit down together to make a very quiet but delightfully _tete-a-tete_ meal, strains of music coming faintly to them, and the Chinese lanterns throwing but little light upon them.

Then their conversation, which is becoming low and confidential, is suddenly broken in upon by Mr. Livingston, who approaches, saying with a savage tone in his usually placid voice, "Erma, I've been looking for you everywhere. Mother has been waiting to take you to supper with us for an hour!"

"Thanks to Captain Lawrence," replies Miss Travenion, who likes this gentleman's tone little, but his interruption less, "I am already very well provided for."

"Ah--with both supper and flirtation," laughs Oliver sneeringly.

"Not at all," cries the young lady. "A flirtation is where they say a great deal more than they mean."

"But here," interjects Lawrence, whose heart is very full of the loveliness upon which he gazes with all his might, "I mean a great deal more than I have said." This remark, emphasized by a very telling glance of his dark eyes, brings furious blushes upon Erma and consternation upon Oliver, who loses his head and gasps, "Why, it is almost a declaration!"

"Would you like me to make it stronger?" asks Harry quite pointedly, his remark to the gentleman, but his eyes upon the lady.

But women in these social crises have generally more _savoir faire_ than men. Miss Travenion says coolly, "I fear we must postpone this _jeu d'esprit_. I see Mr. Kruger looking for me. The Virginia reel is beginning. Mr. Livingston, will you take me to him?"

So, meeting the Mormon bishop, he demands his dance, and the music playing its most lively jig, Erma sees such high kicks, such double shuffles, and such gymnastic graces from Lot, who, being anxious to make a display before his partner, dances with the vigor of a Mormon boy of twenty, that she does her share of the lively contra-dance betwixt spasms of laughter.

This display rather amuses Lawrence, who comes to her at the close and says, "You were right in choosing your partner, Miss Travenion. I yield the palm to him in cutting pigeon wings." Then he goes on sullenly, "There are two of the wives of my enemy Tranyon," and laughs a little unpleasantly, sneering, "I suppose he's got so large a family he has to obtain other men's goods to keep them all."

"Oh, no doubt," whispers Ferdie. "I imagine from his possessions Tranyon must have a dozen or so. He has only been a Mormon eight or nine years, I hear. It must be awful curious to live a life of continual orange blossoms."

Then he goes on. "The beauty of the Mormon part of this ball is that the married men are all eligible for matrimony. The girls need fear no one is not serious in his attentions. Every man goes!"

"Stop making such jokes," cries Erma, sternly. Then she continues, "It's time to go home. Good-night, Captain Lawrence," and going into the dressing-room, she gazes meditatively at the two Mormon ladies, wondering what such a life as theirs can be.

The dark one--the American--she notes is a woman of more decided character than the Swedish Christine, though neither seems to be over-well educated or intelligent. Then she thinks, "What a wretch that Tranyon must be! He is robbing Harry to put gewgaws upon these women!"

for both are dressed much more expensively and in better taste than is usual with Mormon women, even the wives of their apostles and rulers.

From this musing she is suddenly awakened by voices outside the dressing-room.

Ollie is remarking, "As Miss Travenion's guardian, I must insist upon escorting her to her carriage."

"Her guardian?" This is in Harry's tones. "Who made you such?"

"Her father!"

"WHAT?"

"Certainly, her father," continues Oliver's soft voice. "He has const.i.tuted me her guardian until she becomes my wife--next winter."

This easy falsehood makes Erma at first frightened, then angry, and a minute after, coming forth cloaked and hooded, she meets Mr. Livingston, Captain Lawrence having apparently gone away.

"Mother is waiting," he whispers, and takes her down.

But on the sidewalk outside she sees Harry standing despondently, and striding up to him, gives him words that make him happy once more.

"To-morrow at two I wish to see you," she whispers, then laughs lightly, "Fairy stories for girls; men don't believe them!"

With this she steps into her carriage, and whispers to Livingston: "Don't dare to tell any more of your fibs about me!" for she is angry with herself now, and cogitates: "What will that man think of me? I have done an unmaidenly thing, and that immaculate gentleman opposite me, gossiping so easily with his mother and Louise, made me do it."

CHAPTER X.

"PAPA!"