hrough the fair country, but she neither looked at nor spoke to
me. I was much lionized, however, by Mrs. Woodruff, a pretty, faded,
coquettish woman, who had been balancing herself on the very edge of
proprieties for years, but who still, thanks to a certain weariness she
compelled in men, was yet safe enough in her position as a matron.
Georgy's companion was a titled foreigner just then a favorite at the
Point, but of whom I need not speak.

"Did you ask me to come that I might hear you talk with the count?" I
asked her when once that day I had a chance to address her.

"But the count would talk to me," she returned, laughing. "Do you
suppose I care for him? I think him the most odious man I know, with his
waxed moustache, his small green eyes, his wicked mouth and teeth. But
Mrs. Woodruff is dying for him, and half the women here hate me in their
hearts because he pays me attention. I like you infinitely better,
Floyd."

"Then come away and sit upon the rocks with me."

"Oh, I cannot afford to do those romantic, compromising things. You see
that, as we are both staying at The Headlands, where everybody's
curiosity is centred this summer, we are much observed, much commented
upon."

"It seems to me you are not at all afraid of compromising yourself with
other men."

"Now you are cross and jealous. Perhaps if you betrayed a little less
interest in me you might make me less afraid of concession. And you must
not watch me so: the count himself spoke about your eyes ready to burn
me with their melancholy fire."

"Hang the count!"

"With all my heart! I am tired of his hanging about me, however. Now go
away: at the dance to-night I will talk to you all you wish."

There were plenty of beautiful girls at the picnic, and not a few of
them sat outside the circle quite neglected or wandered away like
school-girls in couples, picking ferns and gathering pale wood-blossoms;
but since I could not speak to Georgina at my ease, there seemed to me
neither meaning nor occupation for the slowly-passing hours. I have
sometimes wondered how those women feel to whom society brings no
homage, no real social intercourse, who sit outside the groups formed
around their more brilliant sisters and behold their easy triumphs. They
seem patient and good-natured, but must they not wonder in their hearts
why one woman's face and figure are a magnet compelling every man to
come within the circle of her attraction, while others, not less