ely troubled him. He remembered
Cressy's hair; it was certainly very beautiful, in spite of her
occasional vagaries of coiffure. He recalled how, one afternoon, it had
come down when she was romping with Octavia in the play-ground, and was
surprised to find what a vivid picture he retained of her lingering in
the porch to put it up; her rounded arms held above her head, her pretty
shoulders, full throat, and glowing face thrown back, and a wisp of the
very hair between her white teeth! He began another letter.

When it was finished the shadow of the pine-branch before the window,
thrown by the nearly level sun across his paper, had begun slowly to
reach the opposite wall. He put his work away, lingered for a moment in
hesitation over the myrtle sprays, and then locked them in his desk
with an odd feeling that he had secured in some vague way a hold upon
Cressy's future vagaries; then reflecting that Uncle Ben, whom he had
seen in town, would probably keep holiday with the others, he resolved
to wait no longer, but strolled back to the hotel. The act however had
not recalled Uncle Ben to him by any association of ideas, for since his
discovery of Johnny Filgee's caricature he had failed to detect anything
to corroborate the caricaturist's satire, and had dismissed the subject
from his mind.

On entering his room at the hotel he found Rupert Filgee standing
moodily by the window, while his brother Johnny, overcome by a repletion
of excitement and collation, was asleep on the single arm-chair. Their
presence was not unusual, as Mr. Ford, touched by the loneliness of
these motherless boys, had often invited them to come to his rooms to
look over his books and illustrated papers.

"Well?" he said cheerfully.

Rupert did not reply or change his position. Mr. Ford, glancing at
him sharply, saw a familiar angry light in the boy's beautiful eyes,
slightly dimmed by a tear. Laying his hand gently on Rupert's shoulder
he said, "What's the matter, Rupert?"

"Nothin'," said the boy doggedly, with his eyes still fixed on the pane.

"Has--has--Mrs. Tripp" (the fair proprietress) "been unkind?" he went on
lightly.

No reply.

"You know, Rupe," continued Mr. Ford demurely, "she must show SOME
reserve before company--like to-day. It won't do to make a scandal."

Rupert maintained an indignant silence. But the dimple (which he usually
despised as a feminine blot) on the cheek nearer the master became
slightly accented. Only for