e had a pretty head, which she carried gracefully, but
it was against the window, and I couldn't make out the face."

"That," said the head waiter, with pride either in the fact or for the
effect it must produce, "was Miss Phyllis Desmond."

Gaites started as satisfactorily as could be wished. "Indeed?"

"Yes; she's engaged to play here the whole summer." The head waiter
fumbled with the knife and fork at the place opposite, and blushed. "But
you'll hear her to-night yourself," he ended incoherently, and hurried
away, to show another guest to his, or rather her, place.

Gaites wondered why he felt suddenly angry; why he resented the head
waiter's blush as an impertinence and a liberty. After all, the fellow
was a student and probably a gentleman; and if he chose to help himself
through college by taking that menial role during the summer, rather
than come upon the charity of his friends or the hard-earned savings of
a poor old father, what had any one to say against it? Gaites had
nothing to say against it; and yet that blush, that embarrassment of a
man who had pulled out his chair for him, in relation to such a girl as
Miss Phyllis Desmond, incensed him so much that he could not enjoy his
supper. He did not bow to the head waiter when he held the netting-door
open for him to go out, and he felt the necessity of taking the evening
air in another stroll to cool himself off.

Of course, if the poor girl was reduced to playing in the hotel
orchestra for the money it would give her, she had come down to the
level of the head waiter, and they must meet as equals. But the thought
was no less intolerable for that, and Gaites set out with the notion of
walking away from it. At the station, however, which was in friendly
proximity to the Inn, his steps were stayed by the sound of girlish
voices, rising like sweetly varied pipes from beyond the freight-depot.
Their youth invited his own to look them up, and he followed round to
the back of the depot, where he came upon a sight which had, perhaps
from the waning light, a heightened charm. Against the curtain of low
pines which had been gradually creeping back upon the depot ever since
the woods were cut away to make room for it, four girls were posed in
attitudes instinctively dramatic and vividly eager, while as many men
were employed in getting what Gaites at once saw to be Miss Phyllis
Desmond's piano into the wagon backed up to the platform of the depot.
Their work was ne