shment after their host's retreating coat-tails.

"I told him to go 'way back and sit down," answered Rushford, going
calmly on with his meal.

"Dad, is it true that Lord Vernon is to arrive to-morrow morning?"

"I suppose so."

"In a ship of war?"

"Yes--I've heard that, too."

"You'll take us down to the beach, won't you, dad?"

"What! A free-born American citizen go toadying after the English
aristocracy!"

"But we'll need a cicerone, dad."

"What for, I'd like to know?"

"Oh, what are cicerones always for? To get us a good place, to be sure!"

So here he was, in the forefront of the crowd, with his womenkind beside
him, and no doubt the discerning reader has already guessed that it was
to their cheeks I referred some pages back. There were many grandes
dames upon the beach that morning--some the real thing, a little plain,
a little faded, rather touching to look upon--others, for the most part
articles de Paris, very tall and plump and even handsome, if one likes
the gorgeous type, with gowns created by the great costumers and paid
for heaven knows how! But I always think with a little warmth of pride
and admiration of those two American girls standing there, wind-blown
and radiant. Coarse, madame! Ah, what would you not give for a little
of that coarseness! After all, freshness is a woman's greatest charm, as
you very well know, madame, though you try your best to think otherwise;
and, alas, you are fast losing yours! For, as you have found--as untold
thousands have found before you, and will yet find--one can't squander
one's youth and keep it, too! Aye, more than that. The sins of the night
stare at one from one's glass on the morrow, and will not be massaged
away. Take your baths, madame, in milk, or wine, or perfumed water;
summon your masseuse, your beauty-doctor. Let them rub you and knead you
and pinch you, coat you with cold cream or grease you with oil of
olives. Redden cheeks and lips, whiten hands and shoulders, polish
nails, pencil eyebrows, squeeze in the waist, pad out the hips--swallow,
at the last, that little tablet which you slip from the jewelled case at
your wrist. It is all in vain. You deceive no man nor woman. They look
into your eyes and smile, but behind the smile there is a shudder!

Nell and Susie Rushford, with the wind playing in their hair and kissing
their cheeks, that morning, were miracles of freshness; two divine
messages, two phantoms of delight, sent from the New Wo