"I wonder why we couldn't have a swim this morning, Jean?" Nathalie stood before her mirror, arranging her pretty brown tresses which, in spite of vigorous efforts with brush and comb, would curl, and refuse to be orderly. "Of course, Aunt Helen will say it is too early in the season."

"Well, I think that is absurd. It is warm enough. 'Afric's sunny clime' is not a circumstance to it. Look out, Jean, at the sunlight on the lawn. When it has that pinkish tinge, you may be sure it's hot."

Jean peeped through the half-open shutters.

"Oh! what a sweet day. Yes, it is going to be hot, and, unless Aunt Helen objects seriously, we will surely go in."

She crossed the room and, opening the wardrobe door, took out a pretty striped cotton gown. "Warm enough for this, isn't it?"

Nathalie nodded.

In a few minutes more the girls were both in the dining room. Helen and the children were already at breakfast.

"How late you are," cried Helen, looking up from an open letter. "I wish you——"

"Never mind, dear," interrupted Nathalie. "It will all be the same a hundred years hence."

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," sighed Helen. "Gladys, don't beat on the table with your spoon. The noise is distracting."

"And although your tones are dulcet, my love, suppose you give us that little song after breakfast," and Jean slipped into her place at her little sister's side.

Gladys turned and threw her arms around her.

"I didn't see you come in, Jeanie."

"That is because you have not eyes in the back of your head, pet."

"Of course I haven't. Nobody has, 'cept fairies and princesses, I s'pose," and Gladys straightened herself up, and, in so doing, overturned her glass of milk into her lap.

"Gladys," cried Helen sharply, "look at your nice, clean frock. It is a shame."

The little girl's lips trembled, and her bright blue eye overflowed with tears.

"You don't s'pose I did it a-purpose—for nothing."

"No, no, dear. Of course not. Don't cry. I didn't mean to scold you. There, get down and run up to Mary, like a good little girl, and have your frock changed," for the sight of tears always put an end to Helen's best efforts at severity.

But Gladys' feelings had been hurt, and now that she was mistress of the situation, she had no intention of drying her eyes.

"I think you were unkind, Helen," she began plaintively.

"Don't be a baby, Gladys," interposed Nathalie irritably. "I declare, I think it a perfect nuisance to have our breakfast spoiled in this way. If you can't behave, you had better have yours in the nursery."

The child's tears were about to begin afresh when a pleasant voice was heard at the door.

"Good-morning. Can I come in?" And without awaiting permission Miss Hill crossed the room. In her pretty flannel gown and garden hat she made a very pleasing picture. "How are you, puss?" And she stooped and kissed little Gladys' tear-stained cheek, smiling meanwhile at the girls, as she divined the situation.

"All right," said the little girl, her face brightening perceptibly, for she dearly loved Miss Hill.

"Helen, here is a rose," said Eleanor, "and when you smell it you will realize that June is here."

Helen smiled her thanks.

"Well, Eleanor, what started you so early?" asked Jean, as she buttered her roll.

"Early? You girls don't know what early means. Why it is after nine and I had my breakfast a good hour ago."

"Horror!" shuddered Nathalie. "The very thought is pain."

"They are spoiled," spoke Helen, "and even I am getting into bad habits. I simply gave up struggling, and set the breakfast hour a half hour later, with the desperate hope that it might bring them down on time."

"Girls, you ought to be ashamed," said Eleanor, with well-feigned reproach in her tone.

"What nonsense! You would do exactly the same yourself if Mrs. Moffins were not such a disciplinarian. You can't make me think you are so superior," laughed Nathalie.

Helen rose, and, pushing open the blind door, stepped out on the veranda. It was a beautiful June morning, bright and sunshiny. The air was soft and warm, and the gentle south wind felt like a caress. The fragrance of roses and honeysuckles was almost intoxicating. Every now and then the delicious stillness was broken by the soft plaintive song of a bird. The old manor looked more beautiful than ever to Helen, who loved every nook and cranny of it. She stood for a moment, shading her eyes with her hand from the sun.

"What a pretty day," she murmured to herself. "Oh, I wish——" but then a voice called her, and she went back into the house.

"Helen," said Jean, coming out from the dining room, "ask Auntie if we can go in bathing. It is so warm, and we are wild to go in."

"Very well," nodded Helen, as she went upstairs.

Mrs. Dennis was in her chair by the window, with her breakfast tray on a small table at her side.

"Good-morning, darling," she said cheerily. "Where did these delicious strawberries come from?" glancing at the pretty cut-glass dish which was filled with them.

"They are the first out of the garden, Auntie, and I was determined that no one should have them but your own dear self."

"Thank you, my dear, it was just like you to think of Auntie first. I shall indeed enjoy them."

"Do please; and oh, Auntie! the girls want to go bathing to-day. Are you willing they should?"

"I am afraid the water will be cold."

"Well, we have had a good deal of warm weather, and I think it can't be very frigid. I suppose we might as well say 'yes,' Auntie?"

"Of course," replied Aunt Helen laughingly. "Past experience has taught us that when Jean and Nathalie have set their hearts on a thing, we might as well surrender at once. You won't go in, dear?"

"No, indeed," and Helen shivered at the idea. "I must go and tell the girls, for they will want to know."

When the roomy buckboard came to the door, Nathalie jumped into the front seat and gathered up the reins.

"Hurry and get in, girls," she called. "The horses are very fresh this morning," and in a moment more they were bowling down the avenue.

"Stop at the inn, Nat," said Jean, "and we will get the letters, and ask Mollie to go down to the beach with us."

As they pulled up before the inn, Mollie Andrews came running out on to the porch, with a package of letters in her hand.

"Don't get out, Jean; I have your mail. Have you got room enough for me?"

"Certainly. Jump right in," cried Nathalie. "The tide is just right now, so we must hurry. Oh! isn't this jolly? I love the delicious sense of excitement one always feels at the first swim of the season. Say, Moll, will you go in?"

"I don't know. Yes, I think I will."

It was quite a pretty scene, this bright June morning, down on the little stretch of sands which Hetherford dignified by the name of "The Beach."

Little children were digging in the sand and filling their pails, and some of the small boys were running up and down, now in the water, and now out. The girls were in a group in front of the bathing houses, all chattering at once, and discussing the momentous question as to whether to make the plunge or not.

In a brief time Jean and Nathalie were swimming far out, and Mollie came creeping timidly to the water's edge.

"Oh! how I dread it," she laughed.

"Nonsense, Moll; go ahead. It will do you good."

Mollie walked off, and Helen and Eleanor, who had found a sheltered nook, watched the bathers for a while in silence. By and by Helen's gaze strayed from the bathers to the stretch of blue water beyond, and a slightly troubled look crept into her eyes. A sudden, deep sigh recalled Eleanor's thoughts to her companion.

"Why, Helen, what world of melancholy does that sigh proclaim?"

"Oh, I don't know," evasively. "I am low-spirited this morning, somehow or other."

"Can't you tell me the reason, dear?"

Helen did not answer, and for a moment Eleanor watched her closely. Something in the delicate face and in the eyes, in which, of late, a shadow always lurked, touched her.

"I would love your confidence, Helen," she said at last; "but unless you can give it to me freely, I would not wish to ask it of you."

Helen stirred uneasily.

"Ah, well, for a moment I thought to speak to you of something troublesome, but be glad, dear, that I have changed my mind. I am going to speak of something pleasant instead. Do you remember my friend Miss Stuart? She has visited me several times, but always in the winter."

"Oh, yes! I remember Jean's writing me about her."

Helen turned a questioning glance on Eleanor, but the girl's expression was perfectly non-committal.

"Yes? Well, she is coming here to visit me later. The time is not set as yet, but I hope it will be early next month."

"Indeed. How nice. But, Helen, I thought she was very gay and devoted to society. What will she do in this colony of girls, with scarcely a man to say a pretty thing to her?"

"I don't know," replied Helen, a shade of annoyance crossing her face. "I think, perhaps, the girls may be mistaken about her. I feel quite sure she will be happy here."

Just then Nan Birdsall came rushing down over the sands, warm but radiant.

"Going in, Nan?" called Eleanor in greeting.

"No, indeed," breathlessly. "I hate the water more than a cat does," and Nan dropped down on the sand at Eleanor's side, and, taking off her hat, fanned her flushed face.

"Where is Em this morning?" queried Helen.

"What a superfluous question," laughed Nan. "Don't you see that the Sylph is in the harbor? Of course, Em has Mr. Churchill in tow."

"How will Nathalie like that?" asked Eleanor with an amused smile.

"Oh, Nat won't care," replied Nan, picking up a pebble and sending it skimming across the water. "She is far too sensible."

"Look over your shoulder, Nan, and see your prediction verified;" and surely enough, strolling across the beach, in their direction, came Emily Varian, with Wendell Churchill at her side.

"Isn't Em in her element?" said Nan, lowering her voice.

Nothing could have been more characteristic than the welcome the three girls gave Mr. Churchill. Into Eleanor Hill's courteous greeting was thrown just enough of personal interest as to be slightly flattering. Helen's "How do you do" was both shy and reserved, and Nan just nodded indifferently, and continued her occupation of skipping stones.

"We ought to be going home," announced Helen presently.

"I wonder if the girls are not ready yet? Oh, yes! there they come!" as the three girls came down from the bathing house and joined the little group. Suddenly Nan dropped her pebbles and sprang to her feet with an exclamation:

"Oh, girls, what fun! My ship has come in at last!"

"Why, Nan, are you going out of your mind?" cried Jean. "What ship?"

"Look, girls, look! Don't you see that big schooner just rounding the point?"

"Yes, but what of it?"

"Why, that's the U. S. Coast Survey schooner Vortex, and she's going to be stationed here for a long time, and Dick knows all the officers aboard. How is that for a piece of news?"

"This must be your secret," laughed Eleanor.

"Of course, and didn't I keep it well? Dick told me weeks ago that they were coming."

"I say, it is jolly. We will have some fun, won't we?" It was Nathalie who spoke.

"It is a perfect god-send," declared Emily Varian, solemnly. "Nan, your secret is a success, and I congratulate you."

"I wonder," ruminated Jean, "who the men are, and whether we will really like them."

"Time will tell," spoke Helen, a bit indifferently. "Come, girls, we must be going. Here is the carriage."

Almost every evening the young people gathered together on the Lawrences' broad veranda, and to-night was no exception to the rule. When the girls strolled out from the dining room, they found Nan and Emily sitting on the steps.

"Why, we never heard you at all," said Jean. "You must have come over the lawn like—oh dear, I can't think of a comparison. The night is too warm for one to exert one's brain unnecessarily."

Nathalie seated herself on the railing.

"Here come Eleanor and Wendell Churchill."

"Ah!" laughed Jean teasingly. Her sister looked around at her with heightened color.

"Don't be silly, Jean."

"Do you know I have hardly seen you to-day, Miss Nathalie," said Churchill, finding a place on the railing at her side. "Where have you kept yourself?"

"Everywhere—anywhere. I have not been hard to find."

Nathalie's eyes were smiling wickedly into his, and his gave her back a smile.

"Now, let me explain," he began.

"Oh, don't let me put you to any unnecessary trouble," she interrupted with mock formality.

"You are very cruel to-night," said Churchill laughing. "By the way, Dick and I went down to the Vortex this afternoon, and there are some awfully good fellows aboard. I hope you girls will give them a good time."

"It seems to me that the responsibility ought to rest with them," interposed Eleanor Hill.

"Otherwise we should feel absolutely overwhelmed," said Nan comically.

"Here comes Dick now," exclaimed Nathalie, "and he has a strange man with him."

In a moment more Dick Andrews gained the veranda, and introduced his friend Beverly Dudley, of the Vortex.

It was Jean who came forward and, extending her hand, bade him welcome.

"Ah, Mr. Dudley, I fear you will feel yourself overwhelmed with such a bevy of girls, but let me help you. This is my sister Nathalie—my friends Miss Hill, Miss Birdsall, and Miss Varian. Unfortunately my elder sister is not here to receive you. She will join us presently. Emily, can't you make room for Mr. Dudley on the settle?" she added glancing about her.

Emily smiled radiantly, and Dudley, who seemed to be a charming youth, made his way to her side.

Leaving Nathalie and Em each happy in a tÊte-À-tÊte, the other girls formed a circle of which jolly Dick was the center, and much good-natured chaffing and light-hearted laughter were in order.

After a while Helen appeared in the doorway with two mandolins in her hands.

"What a good idea," exclaimed Eleanor enthusiastically. "Now we can have some singing."

"I can't very well shake hands, Mr. Dudley," said Helen, in response to Jean's introduction.

"Let me relieve you, Miss Lawrence."

"Thanks. Will you give this mandolin to my sister Nathalie?"

They all joined in a song, and their voices, with the mandolin accompaniment, sounded wondrously sweet in the soft night air.

It was growing late when Nan at last jumped up.

"I am sorry to break up the party, but Emily and I must be going. Father will have the town crier out pretty soon."

There was a general move, and Mr. Dudley crossed to Helen's side.

"I have had a charming evening, Miss Lawrence. I hope you will honor us with your presence on the Vortex very soon." He spoke with the soft drawl peculiar to Southerners.

"It will be a great pleasure, and indeed we will."

"Won't you let me walk home with you, Miss Varian?" he asked. "It is rather late for you to go alone."

Emily's answer was lost in a merry peal of laughter from Nan.

"Mr. Dudley evidently appreciates the dangers lurking in that desolate stretch of lawn between here and the parsonage," she said with good-natured sarcasm.

The girls joined in a general laugh, in spite of themselves, but Emily frowned portentously.

After "good-night" had been said all around, and Helen found herself alone in her room, she took out from between the leaves of a book the letter she had received in the morning. As she re-read it she glanced up from time to time at a likeness which stood on the table close at hand. It was the face of a very beautiful woman—a face delicate, oval in shape, with straight eyebrows, from under which looked out a pair of eyes with a world of witchery in their depths; the whole crowned by a halo of soft hair.

Helen dropped the letter in her lap, and folding her hands over it, fell into a deep reverie. Rousing herself at last, she slowly crossed the room, and opened a little drawer in her writing desk. There, hidden among some papers, lay another photograph—a man's face this time. As she looked at it steadily a heavy sigh escaped her lips, for it seemed to her that the grave eyes looked at her reproachfully. With a half-impatient exclamation she tossed it back into its hiding-place and closed the drawer sharply, and not until sleep claimed her did these two faces fade entirely from her mental vision.