is name! And this
very day, not more than an hour ago, she had been kissed. No man had
ever kissed Iris before, not even a grand-legal-cousin-once-removed.
Still, she rather wished it hadn't happened, for she felt different,
someway. It would have been better if the writer of the letters had done
it. A romance like this set her far above the commonplace--she felt very
much older than Lynn, and was inclined to patronise him. He was nothing
but a boy, who chased one around the garden with worms and put
grasshoppers in one's hat. Yet one could pardon those things, when one
was so undeniably popular.

* * * * *

After tea, they sat in the shadowy coolness of the parlour, waiting. The
very air was expectant. Aunt Peace was beautiful in shimmering white,
with the emerald gleaming at her throat. Mrs. Irving, as always, wore a
black gown, and Iris had donned her best lavender muslin, in honour of
the occasion.

"Why can't we go outside?" asked Margaret.

"We can, my dear," returned Aunt Peace, "but I was taught that it was
better to wait in the house until after calling hours. Of course, there
are few visitors in East Lancaster, but even on a desert island one must
observe the proprieties, and a lady will always receive her guests in
the house."

While she was speaking, Doctor Brinkerhoff opened the gate. Miss Field
affected not to see him, and waited until the maid ushered him in. "Good
evening, Doctor," she said, "I assure you this is quite a pleasure."

His manner toward the others was gentle, and even courtly, but he
distinguished Miss Field by elaborate deference. If he disagreed with
her, it was with evident respect for her opinion, and upon all disputed
points he seemed eager to be convinced.

"Shall we not go into the garden?" asked Aunt Peace, addressing them
all. "We were just upon the point of going, Doctor, when you came."

She led the way, with the Doctor beside her, attentive, gallant, and
considerate. Margaret came next, with Miss Field's white shawl. Behind
were Lynn and Iris, laughing like children at some secret joke. By a
strange coincidence, five chairs were arranged in a sociable group
under the tall pine in a corner of the garden.

"Yes," Miss Field was saying, "I think East Lancaster is most beautiful
at this time of year. I have not travelled much, but I have seen
pictures, and I am content with my own little corner of the world."

"And yet, madam," returned the