ith his partner on one side
and his cousin on the other. Mary, who was conducted to her seat by Mr.
Layard, the delicate brother, an insignificant, pallid-looking specimen
of humanity, for reasons of her own, not unconnected perhaps with the
expected presence of the Misses Layard and Rose, had determined to look
and dress her best that night. She wore a robe of some rich white silk,
tight fitting and cut rather low, and upon her neck a single row of
magnificent diamonds. The general effect of her sheeny dress, snow-like
skin, and golden, waving hair, as she glided into the shaded room,
suggested to Morris's mind a great white lily floating down the quiet
water of some dark stream, and, when presently the light fell on her,
a vision of a silver, mist-laden star lying low upon the ocean at the
break of dawn. Later, after she became acquainted with these poetical
imaginings, Mary congratulated herself and her maid very warmly on the
fact that she had actually summoned sufficient energy to telegraph to
town for this particular dress.

Of the other ladies present, Miss Layard was arrayed in a hot-looking
red garment, which she imagined would suit her dark eyes and complexion.
Miss Rose, on the contrary, had come out in the virginal style of muslin
and blue bows, whereof the effect, unhappily, was somewhat marred by a
fiery complexion, acquired as the result of three days' violent play at
a tennis tournament. To this unfortunate circumstance Miss Layard, who
had her own views of Miss Rose, was not slow in calling attention.

"What has happened to poor Jane?" she said, addressing Mary. "She looks
as though she had been red-ochred down to her shoulders."

"Who is poor Jane?" asked that young lady languidly. "Oh! you mean Miss
Rose. I know, she has been playing in that tennis tournament at--what's
the name of the place? Dad would drive me there this afternoon, and it
made me quite hot to look at her, jumping and running and hitting for
hour after hour. But she's awfully good at it; she won the prize.
Don't you envy anybody who can win a prize at a tennis tournament, Miss
Layard?"

"No," she answered sharply, for Miss Layard did not shine at Tennis. "I
dislike women who go about what my brother calls 'pot-hunting' just as
if they were professionals."

"Oh, do you? I admire them. It must be so nice to be able to do anything
well, even if it's only lawn tennis. It's the poor failures like myself
for whom I am so sorry."

"I