fathoms deep. No,"
continued the actress, returning aggrievedly to her own affairs, "I
suppose there's no such thing as escaping recognition--even as late in
the season as this, and at such an out-of-the-way place. Of course, I
knew," she continued crossly, "that various people here had placed me,
but I did rather hope to escape actual introductions!"

"Who is it--some one you know?" Mrs. Arbuthnot adjusted the pillow at
her back, and settled herself enjoyably for a talk.

"Indirectly; it's that little butterfly of a summer girl--the one Jim
calls 'The Dancing Girl'--of all people in the world!" said Julie,
locking her arms comfortably behind her head. "You know how she's been
haunting me, Ann? She's been simply DETERMINED upon an introduction
ever since she placed me as her adored Miss Ives of matinee fame. I
imagine she's rather a nice child--every evidence of money--the
ambitious type that longs to do something big--and is given to
desperate hero worship. She's been under my feet for a week, with a
Faithful Tray expression that drives me crazy. I've taken great pains
not to see her."

"And now--?" prompted the other, as the actress fell silent, and sat
staring dreamily at the brilliant sweep of beach and sea before them.

"Oh--now," Miss Ives took up her narrative briskly. "Well, a new young
man arrived on the afternoon boat and, of course, the Dancing Girl
instantly captivated him. She has one simple yet direct method with
them all," she interrupted herself to digress a little. "She gets one
of her earlier victims to introduce him; they all go down for a swim,
she fascinates him with her daring and her bobbing red cap, she returns
to white linen and leads him down to play tennis--they have tea at the
'Casino,' and she promises him the second two-step and the first extra
that evening. He is then hers to command," concluded Julie, bringing
her amused eyes back to Mrs. Arbuthnot's face, "for the remainder of
his stay!"

"That's exactly what she DOES do," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, laughing, "but
I don't see yet--"

"Oh, I forgot to say," Miss Ives amended hastily, "that to-day's young
man happens to be an acquaintance of mine; at least his uncle
introduced him to me at a tea last winter. She led him by to the tennis
courts an hour ago, and, to my disgust, I recognized him. That's all
Miss Dancing Girl wants. Now--you'll see! They'll come up to our table
in the dining-room to-night, and to-morrow she'll bring up a gro