About a week later Mr. Tremain found at his breakfast plate another letter, and though bearing no crest or motto, and not suggestive of violets, was nevertheless a dainty enough feminine epistle.

"The Folly,
"Staten Island,
"April, 188—.

"Dear Mr. Tremain,

"Will you come down to us for as long as you can stay without becoming bored to extinction! Your favourite rooms are waiting you, your favourite horse stands idle in his stall, the yacht is in perfect condition, and this delicious foretaste of summer makes sailing in her delightful. We are bored to death, however, for want of some one out of the common. Come and be that some one. I can offer you a pretty girl, a clever girl, and a girl of the period to flirt with successively; then there is myself, and your little god-daughter, Marianne, for common sense and dulness; while George, poor fellow, is pining for another battle at tennis and billiards with you. The ponies, my new ones, and their mistress, will be at the five-thirty boat to-morrow afternoon, to meet you, so pray don't disappoint,

"Yours most cordially,
"Esther Newbold."

Nothing loth, Mr. Tremain put himself on board the Castleton the next day, and enjoyed the half-hour's crossing to the island, whose wooded, picturesque shores, clad in fairest green, were a refreshment to his senses, accustomed for so many months to the hard lines and sharp angles of New York. As he stepped off the boat at New Brighton, he was at once attracted by a very small boy, in a very tall hat, top-boots, and silver buttons; then the most perfect of pony-carriages and ponies met his view; and last, but not least, a pretty little woman in a Gainsborough hat, and a light ulster, who put out a welcoming hand, in a heavy driving-glove, as he appeared, and said gaily:

"Oh, Mr. Tremain, this is very good of you. You know I said I should come for you myself. Now, then, are you quite settled to your liking? Let go their heads, Tony; go on, my beauties."

The ponies answered spiritedly to the flick of her whip; and, indeed, pranced off so suddenly that the small atom of humanity, perched up behind, quite lost his dignity, and only retained his equilibrium by super-human efforts.

Once on the Terrace they bowled along at a good pace, and after the usual questions had been asked and answered, Mr. Tremain inquired whom he was to meet at the Folly.

Mrs. Newbold answered with a little laugh: "I think I told you in my letter of the three varieties of graces—a specimen of each—I have prepared for you? Here they are by name, and ticketed with the attributes they pose for, and fondly imagine they possess. A clever girl from Boston of course, Rosalie James—small and dark, and critical—reads all the newest books with the most jaw-breaking names, goes in for all the 'ologies' and 'isms,' the later the better; likes to think herself a disciple of the most advanced agnostic cult, is nothing if not cultured, and pins her artistic canons to those of Burne Jones and Walter Crane; is a working member of the Sorosis Club, the Nineteenth Century, and every other woman's club in the Union; writes for the magazines, and always has an Æsthetic novel on the stocks, which never is launched. How do you like this style, Philip?"

"Honestly, not at all," answered Tremain, echoing her thrill of laughter; "from the woman of brains defend me! What have you next to show me?"

"Ah well, she's not so bad as she sounds," said Mrs. Newbold, "I've known her do a great many kind things; and after all it's not her fault, you know, if like the little boy in Punch she fails to take interest in any event subsequent to the Conqueror. And now to number two, my pretty girl, Baby Leonard, and a very pretty girl she is, in a slow, superb Juno-like fashion. I don't know of my own knowledge that she ever shows greater animation than a languid yes, or no, implies; but if you feel a very keen desire to read beneath the tranquillity of her manner, go to Jack Howard for information, she is his latest victim, and he may have touched the depths of even her shallow soul."

"Thank you," returned Tremain, "I do not feel my soul intensely drawn by occult forces—isn't that the correct jargon?—towards that of Miss Leonard; let us allow Jack full innings there."

"Ah, you are very hard to please," cried Mrs. Newbold in pretended petulance. "Now this is really my last and only remaining girl; in my heart of hearts I think she is worth the other two, in spite of her always handicapping herself; enter then Dick Darling, and shouldn't you know by the sound of her name that she is a girl of the period? Pretty? Oh, yes, but more fascinating than pretty; has a brown face, and laughing eyes, and turned-up nose, uses all the latest slang, wears a hard hat, a cut-away jacket, a Stanley necktie, and eye-glass and chain, and carries the slenderest of walking-sticks, smokes her own cigarettes, drinks Bass's ale, and plays a rattling good game at poker; and despite all her mannish affectations, has the best heart in the world. She rides like a bird, pulls an oar with the best, and can give as ugly a twister at tennis as you could wish to see. Now is she more to your liking?"

Mr. Tremain shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear Mrs. Newbold, what can I say? Miss Darling is doubtless a thoroughly good young lady, but more after the hearts and tastes of younger men than such a graybeard as I. Do not, I beg of you, make any efforts in the young-lady line on my behalf, I ask nothing better than a good share of your company, and an hour or two of romps with my little god-daughter. I shall be more than blessed if you will put up with my dulness."

"What a very pretty speech, Philip, it is quite refreshing to my old married ears; very well, you may sacrifice yourself on the altar of decorum and innocence if you like, I will not say you nay. The men of our party I think you know; besides Jack Howard we have handsome Freddy Slade—the beauty of the day—and one or two inoffensive lads to fetch and carry. And so you don't think either of my graces worthy your consideration, Philip? Yet I do believe each one of them owns a good and true heart, in spite of their individual fads."

"I do not doubt it," answered Mr. Tremain; "but seriously, my dear Esther, you must surely know that having suffered once in that way, I am not likely to be easily attracted again. I fancy the woman who could win my cynical and fastidious heart, has not yet come from the other world; she must needs combine all the beauties of the graces, the attributes of the muses, and be withal, like CÆsar's wife, above suspicion. Find me such a divinity, Esther, or else I shall wait for your own little Marianne."

A silence followed Philip's half-jesting, half-bitter reply, broken at last by Mrs. Newbold's lightest laugh, as she asked:

"Do you like my ponies? George gave them to me on my last birthday; Dick Darling christened them, Rock and Taffy; hard and soft, you know, or dependable and doubtful, or any opposing virtues you choose to select. Now then, here we are," as she turned her ponies cleverly over an awkward incline, and dashed through the gates.

"Shall we join the world at lawn-tennis, or will you come in with me and have a cup of tea?"

"With you, if you please," answered Philip, mock-pleadingly. "My dear Mrs. Newbold, don't deliver me into the hands of the Philistines prematurely."

Esther's blithe laugh rang out merrily as they sped up the long avenue, shaded by the rows of graceful elm trees on either side; she brought the ponies to the door with a workmanlike flourish, and scarcely touching Philip's assisting hand, sprang out and was up the low broad steps before him.

"Let us have tea at once, Long. This way, Mr. Tremain."

They entered the library together; it was a large room and the favourite one, par excellence, of all the apartments in that most charming and hospitable of homes, the Folly. On one side ran a broad, covered, outside verandah, on to which opened two large windows of stained glass, through whose mellow tints the light shone in tenderest colours; heavy draperies, of some wondrous Eastern fabric, fell on either side of the broad low door; a neutral-tinted wall supported rare plaques of Moorish faÏence, and choice selections of bric-À-brac, with here and there the glimmer of brass sconces and silver repoussÉ ovals, relieving the somewhat sombre tone; while everywhere, in each possible or impossible spot, on every table, in every vase or bowl, a wealth of MarÉchal Niel roses filled the air with their subtle pungent perfume, and caught and held the sunshine as in a trance. The one picture of the room stood upon an easel, hung with plush of ruddy hue; it was an artist proof engraving of Correggio's "Io and Jupiter." A fire of pine-logs smouldered on the andirons, and through the curtained doorway a vanishing perspective revealed a vista of drawing-room, music-parlour, and billiard-hall, all in the half tints of twilight.

Mrs. Newbold threw off her hat and ulster, and pushing back the light fluffy curls from her forehead, called out laughingly:

"Mimi, Mimi!"

A little fairy, all yellow curls and white frock, darted through the open door, and dancing up to the pretty lady threw her arms rapturously around her; her mamma bent down her own head above the little one, and kissed the eager little lips.

"See, Philip," she said, "here is your god-daughter. Has she not blossomed into a little hoyden?"

"A Hebe, rather," answered Philip, "and as like her mother as a bud is like the rose."

Esther laughed. "You certainly do pay one the very prettiest compliments, Mr. Tremain; I make you my humble acknowledgments," and she dropped him a mock curtsey. "If this is the result of stern law, why, commend me to its votaries."

And thus laughing, chatting and sipping their tea, they beguiled the time away, until the first dressing-gong broke upon them with surprise, and Philip escaped to his room before the tennis party appeared, flushed with victory, or despondent with defeat.

As Mr. Tremain moved leisurely about his apartment, his ear caught the sound of his own name; he stopped, with a half smile on his lips, and listened. The speakers, two girls, were evidently oblivious to the fact, that given open windows and unmodulated voices, what is sent out of one window, may enter at the other.

"Who is this Philip Tremain?" asked voice No. 1. "I am bored to death by Esther Newbold's praises of him. I don't know him."

"He can't be great things then, can he?" said mockingly voice No. 2. "Only you see, Rosie, this time you're out of it altogether; Philip Tremain is just too awfully utter, just the swellest thing out in men, my dear, though you don't know him Boston-way. Handsome mug, heaps of shiners, Mayflower family, and good form from way back."

Here a little whiff from a Russian cigarette fluttered in. "Ha, ha," laughed Philip, as he sniffed at it, "the girl of the period, and her least hated friend; matters grow interesting."

"How disgustingly slangy you are, Dick," broke in voice No. 1; "really your language is most offensive."

"Poor cultured child!" cried out the other, with a merry laugh, that had something honest in its tone. "How I afflict her! Oh, ye gods and little fishes, how shall I appease her? But seriously, Rosie, don't you remember some one telling us all about him, and the dreadful cropper handsome Patty Hildreth came over him? Long ago, my dear, when she was young, and we had not even seen our 'green and salad days.' He was tremendously in love with her, they say, and was blind to Patty's little peculiarities where men and flirting were concerned, until at last something worse than usual came to his ears, some scrape more daring and hare-brained, in which Patty's name figured largely, and he cut up rough about it; Patty was wilful and obstinate, and Mr. Tremain injured and harsh, and so the engagement came to everlasting smash, and Patty engaged herself, before the week was out, to old Tom Naylor, who left her a cool million, and died within the year of her dismissing him. What luck some girls have! By the way, Esther has asked her here, she says; what a lark it will be to see the meeting of the old-time pals. Good gracious! are you all dressed, Rosa? I shall be late again, as sure as eggs is eggs, and George is such a Turk about meals."

Then the speaker evidently moved away from the window, and Philip heard no more; but what he had listened to set him thinking, and brought a smile of bitterness to his lips.

"So Patty is coming, Patty is to be here," he mused, "and I must meet her after all these long years. Poor, wilful, pretty Patricia!"

A few moments later he entered the library, and found the room still in half-lights and apparently tenantless; but as he moved towards the fireplace he became aware of a tall, slight figure, severely clad in a dark, trailing gown of some heavy silken material. A fall of black lace surrounded the drooping head and fell low about the face, throwing such deep shadows upon it that Philip looked in vain for any definite characteristics. The long and slender hands lay crossed lightly upon her knees, and were guiltless of rings. Something in their attitude, however, recalled Patty to him, and, with a half-credulous smile, he quickened his steps towards the quiet, almost motionless figure; but as he reached her side, a ripple of laughter and light voices broke the spell, as the door was thrown open, and Mrs. Newbold entered, followed by her bevy of fair maidens.

"Ah, Mr. Tremain," cried Esther, "are you here before us? How shall I apologise? Now, will you take your introductions homoeopathically, or in one dose? Girls, fall into line!"

Laughingly she presented him to each in turn, and with a careless, "The men you know," slipped her hand within his arm, saying: "Shall we go in to dinner?"

But Philip stayed her.

"You have forgotten one," he said, in a low voice, glancing towards the figure by the fire, that had remained motionless during all the gay argot and repartee.

"Oh," replied Mrs. Newbold, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders, "you mean Mdlle. Lamien. She is Mimi's governess. I will present you, however. Mademoiselle, permit me; Mr. Tremain—Mdlle. Lamien."

The lady thus addressed turned and bowed slightly—the barest recognition of Mr. Tremain's presence. She raised her face a little, and the light from the wax candles in the sconce above her head fell full upon it. It was a face pale in the extreme, with the dull waxen colour of death—a pallor increased and intensified by the masses of snow-white hair piled high above it, and the heavy black lace folds about it. The dark eyes set in deep shadows burned with a strange inward fire, that not even the heavy lashes could veil. Across one cheek a long cruel mark of greyish blue seemed to throb, as if in angry remembrance of the cruel blow that had caused it; the fair skin would bear its traces for life. The mouth was firm and hard, save for a nervous twitching that sometimes marred its outline. It was a countenance neither handsome nor attractive, and Mr. Tremain turned away, after the barest interchange of civilities, with a feeling of irritable disappointment. What right had such a figure, youthful and full of grace, to be surmounted by a face almost grotesque in its plainness? He had thought of Patty, when first he saw the quiet, dark figure and clasped hands; but as he turned now with Esther's hand still on his arm, the fleeting evanescent vision passed from him.

"Mimi will come to us at dessert, mademoiselle," said Esther, not unkindly. "Will you not also join us?"

"Madame is very kind, but I beg she will excuse me," was the reply, in a voice that sounded young for so old a face, and yet that held an echo of such hopelessness in its cadences, it haunted Philip's ears unceasingly, and so dulled his senses that Miss James's most brilliant high Æsthetical conversation fell unheeded, while Dick Darling's most daring slang evoked only a passing shudder of disapproval.

Miss James shrugged her thin shoulders and voted him a good-looking bore, then turned her dark head and left shoulder upon him, and carried the battle into the enemy's camp, by appropriating Jack Howard, who, by all rights, social and flirtatious, belonged to pretty Baby Leonard.