rs.
Thatcher."

He strolled leisurely to the table where the Thatcher party sat.

"I am going over to Mr. Hamlen's villa this afternoon," he announced; "I
wonder if Miss Merry would care to go with me."

"I'd love to," the girl replied promptly, with evident eagerness in her
voice. "Especially if you are going to talk with him as you did the
other evening," she added.

"You're taking that Hamlen chap rather seriously, aren't you?" Stevens
volunteered.

"He's entitled to it," Huntington said with a decision which Stevens
took to be a rebuff, and subsided.

Mrs. Thatcher was quick to understand that Huntington was acting in
response to her suggestion of the night before, and her face showed her
appreciation.

"I have wanted Merry to see those wonderful grounds," she exclaimed;
"this is just the time to do it."

"When does our Society go into executive session?" asked Edith, with a
significant smile; "my committee wishes to report progress."

"Splendid!" Huntington responded. "The notices shall be sent out at
once." Then he turned again to Merry. "You'll go?" he asked.

"Of course I will; I'll be ready whenever you say."

"I'll telephone Hamlen and see what time he would prefer to have us
come."

* * * * *

"Shall we walk?" she asked him, as they met at the appointed hour on the
piazza of the hotel.

"It's over two miles," he suggested doubtfully. The idea of walking
anywhere when a conveyance was within reach never occurred to Huntington
naturally.

"I don't mind the distance at all unless you do," she replied; "I always
walk when I can, and the afternoon is delightful."

As Huntington regarded his vivacious companion he was conscious of
another shock similar to those he had experienced when he first saw her
and her mother the evening of his arrival. She had discarded the
unconventional costume of the morning, exchanging it for an afternoon
gown of softest texture, so girlish, yet to the practised eye revealing
in every detail the artist's creation,--arraying herself with such
special care that her escort could not fail to understand her
appreciation of his attention. It was Marian Seymour once more whose
hand he held in his as he assisted the girl down the long steps, and his
mind leaped back again over the five and twenty years. But what a
difference at his end of the picture! She was the same, but he--well,
the years had dealt kindly with him he must admit, but forty