testing that the brilliant-looking girl opposite was a guest.

That young lady when addressed was indulging in a luxurious country
yawn, an operation by no means to be hurried, but to be fully and lazily
enjoyed in all its several and long-drawn stages, and as thus practised
a wonderfully calming and soporific relaxation wholly unknown to the
fretted denizens of cities, whose yawn is one of irritation and not of
rest. "I do so enjoy your Plainfield yawns, Lucy," she said when she had
quite finished. "Were you saying that it was a little dull? Well,
perhaps it is, but then the trees and things seem to be enjoying
themselves so hugely that it would be selfish to make a fuss, even if it
isn't exactly my kind of fun."

"Your kind of fun is due by the six-o'clock stage, I believe."

The other laughed and said, "I wish you wouldn't make another allusion
to George. I think of him so much that I'm ashamed as it is. I'm sure
this is a very aggravating place for an engaged girl to be at. One gets
so dreadfully sentimental with nothing to take up the mind, especially
with such monstrous moons as you have. I got fairly frightened of the
one last night. It drew me out through my eyes like a big plaster."

"Mabel French!"

"I don't care: it did. That was just the feeling."

There was no hurry about talking, for the rich, mellow summer silence
had a body to it that prevented pauses from seeming empty, and it might
have been half an hour afterward that Mabel suddenly leaned forward,
putting her face close to the vine-trellis, and cried in a low voice,
"Who's that? Do tell me! They're the very first persons who have gone by
this afternoon, I do believe."

A pretty phaeton was slowly passing, containing an elderly gentleman and
lady.

"Oh, that is only Lawyer Morgan and old Miss Rood," replied Lucy, just
glancing up, and then down again. "They go out driving once a week
regularly, and always at about this time in the afternoon."

"They look like afternoon sort of people," said Mabel. "But why doesn't
Lawyer Morgan take out his wife?"

"He hasn't got any. Miss Rood comes nearest to that. Oh no, you needn't
open your eyes: there's not a properer old maid in town, or old bachelor
either, for that matter."

"Are they relatives?"

"No, indeed."

"How long has this Platonic romance been going on, pray?"

"Oh, ever since they were young--forty years perhaps. I only know by
tradition, you see. It began ages before my day. They s