down in a comfortable low chair facing the refreshing breeze, and feasted her eyes on the scene. Oh, this was life: a smooth green lawn, and beds of flowers, a vista of brown fields, and the dark line of wood beyond. The deft, quiet butler brought out a little table, spread with the whitest of cloths and laid with the brightest of silver, and ‚Äúfound‚Äù a dainty lunch. There was a bit of fried chicken breast, some crisp bacon, browned potatoes, little round beaten biscuit, and rose-colored sherbet with a whiff of wine in it. Miss Taylor wondered a little at the bounty of Southern hospitality; but she was hungry, and she ate heartily, then leaned back dreamily and listened to Mr. ¬ÝCresswell‚Äôs smooth Southern r ‚Äôs, adding a word here and there that kept the conversation going and brought a grave smile to his pale lips. At last with a sigh she arose to her feet.
‚ÄúI must go! What shall I tell Miss Smith! No, no‚ÅÝ‚Äîno carriage; I must walk.‚Äù Of course, however, she could not refuse to let him go at least halfway, ostensibly to tell her of the coming of her brother. He expressed again his disappointment at his sister‚Äôs absence.
Somewhat to Miss Taylor’s surprise Miss Smith said nothing until they were parting for the night, then she asked:
“Was Miss Cresswell at home?”
Mary reddened.
“She had been called