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“Please, miss, you have forgotten. You went to the ball last night.” “No; I did not. I overslept myself.” The maid smiled. “If I may be so bold as to say so, I think, Miss Betty, you are dreaming still.” “No; I did not go.” The maid took up the satin dress. It was crumpled, the lace was a little torn, and the train showed unmistakable signs of having been drawn over a floor. She then held up the shoes. They had been worn, and well worn, as if danced in all night. “Look here, miss; here is your programme! Why, deary me! you must have had a lot of dancing. It is quite full.” Betty looked at the programme with dazed eyes; then at the camellia. It had lost some of its petals, and these had not fallen on the toilet-cover. Where were they? What was the meaning of this? “Martha, bring me