hotel, she put her eye-glasses on
and surveyed its occupants with a look that made them shrink into
themselves and feel ashamed to be sitting about in that idle way. I
believe the old lady's eyesight was good enough, and that she used her
glasses, with their gold bows and the slender chain with which they were
suspended about her neck, for effect. I noticed that if they were not on
she always put them on to look at anything, and if they happened to be
on she took them off for the same purpose.

"Well," she said, going into the little parlor, and looking from the
windows, "this really seems to be a fine situation. The view of the
mountains is quite grand."

"Very kind of you to approve of the mountains, but you could give them
points on grandeur," I thought; but I merely remarked, "We find it quite
pleasant here."

She turned and glanced at me without reply, as much as to say, "Who
addressed you, sir? You would do well to speak when you are spoken to."
I was abashed, but was determined to do the agreeable so far as I could,
in spite of the rebuke of those eyes.

"The house doesn't seem to me to be very attractive," she continued,
glancing around with a gaze that took in everything through all the
partition walls, and assuming a tone that meant, "I am speaking to you,
Bessie, and no one else." "What sort of people are there here?"

"Oh, some very pleasant people, I should judge," said Bessie, "but we
have been here only one day, you know, and have made no acquaintances to
speak of. Charlie's friend, Fred Marston, from the city, is here with
his wife; and I met a young lady to whom I took quite a fancy this
morning, a Miss Van Duzen. She is quite wealthy, and an orphan, and is
here with her uncle, a fine-looking gentleman, who is president of a
bank, or an insurance company, or some thing of the sort. You saw him, I
think, on the piazza,--the large man, with gray side-whiskers, white
vest, and heavy gold chain."

"Yes, I noticed him. A pompous-looking old gentleman, isn't he?"

"Oh, he is dignified in his manner, but not at all pompous," was the
reply.

"Well, I call him pompous, if looks mean anything," said the mother,
with the air of one to whom looks were quite sufficient. "I think I will
go to my room," she added, and turned a glance on me, as much as to say,
"You needn't come, sir." I had no intention of going, and wandered out
on the piazza, feeling as though Bessie had almost been taken away from
me agai