course, I supposed he meant himself), and when I was up by the dock he picked up a great stone and dropped it in, and shoved me off, and called after me: ‘She’ll go better now,’ and—everyone laughed!” 

 Miss Lome stopped, breathless. 

 “I never would have believed it of him,” Jack exclaimed, turning to see where Holloway kept his sense of humor; but just as his eye fell upon the latter, the latter’s eyes altered and suddenly became so bright and intent that his observer involuntarily turned his own gaze quickly in the same direction. 

 It was Mrs. Rosscott who was approaching, all in cerise with lines of Chantilly lace sweeping about her. It seemed a cruelty to every woman present that she should be so beautiful. Jack wanted to fly and fall at her feet, but he couldn’t, of course—he was tied to her hyphenated cousin. 

 But Holloway went forward and greeted her with all possible empressement, and the man who was so much his junior felt an awful weight of youth upon him as he saw her led out of his sight. 

 “I think dear Betty will marry Mr. Holloway,” her cousin chirped blandly, thus settling her fate forever. “He came over in her party, you know, and—she’s always been fond of him.” 

 Jack suddenly recollected how Mrs. Rosscott had commented on the terrible tendency to land upon “and,” and wondered why he had never noticed before how disagreeable said tendency was. 

 (Going to marry Holloway!) 

 “But, then, dear Cousin Betty’s such a coquette that no one can ever tell whom she does like. She’s very insincere.” 

 Jack twisted uneasily. If there was any comfort to be derived from Miss Lorne’s last speech, it was certainly of a most chilly sort. 

 (Probably going to marry Holloway!) 

 “Now, I think it’s too bad, when there are so many simple, sweet girls in the world, that men seem to adore those that flirt like dear Cousin Betty. I don’t approve of flirting anyway. I wouldn’t flirt for anything. I don’t want to break men’s hearts.” 

 “That’s awfully good of you,” Jack said, looking eagerly to where Holloway and Mrs. Rosscott stood together. 

 “Oh, no it isn’t,” said Miss Lorne, “I don’t take any credit for it—I was born so. Dear Betty was 

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