her reveries.

"Did you give Meg a bath, Martha?" she asked over her shoulder. She had
seen the look of disappointment in the old nurse's face and, knowing
the cause, tried to lighten the effect.

"Yes--half water and half sand. Doctor John came along with Rex shinin'
like a new muff, and I was ashamed to let him see Meg. He's comin' up
to see you to-night, Lucy, darlin'," and she bent forward and tapped
the girl's shoulder to accentuate the importance of the information.

Lucy cut her eye in a roguish way and twisted her pretty head around
until she could look into Jane's eyes.

"Who do you think he's coming to see, sister?"

"Why, you, you little goose. They're all coming--Uncle Ephraim has sent
over every day to find out when you would be home, and Bart Holt was
here early this morning, and will be back to-night."

"What does Bart Holt look like?"--she had stopped in her walk to pluck
a spray of lilac blossoms. "I haven't seen him for years; I hear he's
another one of your beaux," she added, tucking the flowers into Jane's
belt. "There, sister, that's just your color; that's what that gray
dress needs. Tell me, what's Bart like?"

"A little like Captain Nat, his father," answered Jane, ignoring Lucy's
last inference, "not so stout and--"

"What's he doing?"

"Nothin', darlin', that's any good," broke in Martha from behind the
two. "He's sailin' a boat when he ain't playin' cards or scarin'
everybody down to the beach with his gun, or shyin' things at Meg."

"Don't you mind anything Martha says, Lucy," interrupted Jane in a
defensive tone. "He's got a great many very good qualities; he has no
mother and the captain has never looked after him. It's a great wonder
that he is not worse than he is."

She knew Martha had spoken the truth, but she still hoped that her
influence might help him, and then again, she never liked to hear even
her acquaintances criticised.

"Playing cards! That all?" exclaimed Lucy, arching her eyebrows; her
sister's excuses for the delinquent evidently made no impression on
her. "I don't think playing cards is very bad; and I don't blame him
for throwing anything he could lay his hands on at this little wretch
of Martha's. We all played cards up in our rooms at school. Miss Sarah
never knew anything about it--she thought we were in bed, and it was
just lovely to fool her. And what does the immaculate Dr. John
Cavendish look like? Has he changed any?" she added with a laugh.

"No