d
to meet them, with a sweet unconsciousness of self in her greeting.
There were depths in Travis Dent's grave, gray eyes that bespoke a
strong, self-reliant character.

The train was beginning to move. Mary Lee waved a last good-bye and
went back to Travis. Settling herself luxuriously in the big cushioned
chair, she smiled across at her friend. "Isn't it lovely!" she
exclaimed. "I want to begin a letter home this minute and tell them
the good times have begun."

* * * * *

For ten summers the ancestral home of the Wickletts had been turned
into a boarding-house, but apparently it ignored the change with the
same high-born ease of manner that characterised its gentle old
mistress. The hospitality it extended to its paying guests was the
same with which it welcomed its many visitors in ante-bellum days. And
Miss Philura Wicklett was the same. They were wonderfully alike, the
aristocratic old mansion and Miss Philura. Indeed, one could scarcely
think of her apart from her familiar background of tall, white
pillars, as stately and dignified as herself. The old portraits
looking down on the faces round the great polished table, saw familiar
ones, for the same family types were repeated there year after year
among the boarders that had been welcomed at Wicklett generations
before. The long mirrors, reflecting dimly the young faces peering
into them now, had flashed back the smiles of mothers and grandmothers
of these girls many a time, when gay house parties thronged the old
mansion.

People flocked from all over the country to drink the waters of the
chalybeate springs near by, which the name of Wicklett made famous;
but a new hotel had been built for the strangers. Only the first
families, who claimed Miss Philura's friendship, knew the open sesame
to her great front door. It was for this reason that there was much
surprise and many exclamations of wonder, and a stir all round the
luncheon table, when Miss Philura announced that she was expecting
Miss Marker and Miss Dent to spend August with her. "Where are they
from, Miss Philura?" asked Molly Glendenning, a tall brunette, who was
the acknowledged belle of the springs that season.

"From your own city, my dear," was the placid answer. "They live
somewhere on Bank Street, I believe."

"Why, I have never even heard of them," said Molly Glendenning, with a
slight arching of her black eyebrows at mention of the street.

Miss Philura