of judgment shown by the Arrowpoints in this use of an
introductory card.

"What extreme guys those artistic fellows usually are?" said young
Clintock to Gwendolen. "Do look at the figure he cuts, bowing with his
hand on his heart to Lady Brackenshaw--and Mrs. Arrowpoint's feather
just reaching his shoulder."

"You are one of the profane," said Gwendolen. "You are blind to the
majesty of genius. Herr Klesmer smites me with awe; I feel crushed in
his presence; my courage all oozes from me."

"Ah, you understand all about his music."

"No, indeed," said Gwendolen, with a light laugh; "it is he who
understands all about mine and thinks it pitiable." Klesmer's verdict
on her singing had been an easier joke to her since he had been struck
by her _plastik_.

"It is not addressed to the ears of the future, I suppose. I'm glad of
that: it suits mine."

"Oh, you are very kind. But how remarkably well Miss Arrowpoint looks
to-day! She would make quite a fine picture in that gold-colored dress."

"Too splendid, don't you think?"

"Well, perhaps a little too symbolical--too much like the figure of
Wealth in an allegory."

This speech of Gwendolen's had rather a malicious sound, but it was not
really more than a bubble of fun. She did not wish Miss Arrowpoint or
any one else to be out of the way, believing in her own good fortune
even more than in her skill. The belief in both naturally grew stronger
as the shooting went on, for she promised to achieve one of the best
scores--a success which astonished every one in a new member; and to
Gwendolen's temperament one success determined another. She trod on
air, and all things pleasant seemed possible. The hour was enough for
her, and she was not obliged to think what she should do next to keep
her life at the due pitch.

"How does the scoring stand, I wonder?" said Lady Brackenshaw, a
gracious personage who, adorned with two little girls and a boy of
stout make, sat as lady paramount. Her lord had come up to her in one
of the intervals of shooting. "It seems to me that Miss Harleth is
likely to win the gold arrow."

"Gad, I think she will, if she carries it on! she is running Juliet
Fenn hard. It is wonderful for one in her first year. Catherine is not
up to her usual mark," continued his lordship, turning to the heiress's
mother who sat near. "But she got the gold arrow last time. And there's
a luck even in these games of skill. That's better. It gives the hinder
ones a