persons whom she had now enlisted were to proceed by water to a certain pastoral spot consecrated by nature to picnics, and there to have lunch upon the grass, to dance and play nursery-games. They were carried over in two large sailing boats, and during the transit Philip talked awhile with Mrs. Carpenter, whom he found a very amiable, loquacious person. At the further end of the boat in which, with his hostess, he had taken his place, he observed a young girl in a white dress, with a thick, blue veil drawn over her face. Through the veil, directed toward his own person, he perceived the steady glance of two fine dark eyes. For a moment he was at a loss to recognize their possessor; but his uncertainty was rapidly dispelled.
"I see you have Miss Congreve," he said to Mrs. Carpenter—"the actress of the other evening."
"Yes," said Mrs. Carpenter, "I persuaded her to come. She's all the fashion since Wednesday."
"Was she unwilling to come?" asked Philip.
"Yes, at first. You see she's a good, quiet girl; she hates to have a noise made about her."
"She had enough noise the other night. She has wonderful talent."
"Wonderful, wonderful. And heaven knows where she gets it. Do you know her family? The most matter-of-fact, least dramatic, least imaginative people in the world—people who are shy of the theatre on moral grounds."
"I see. They won't go to the theatre; the theatre comes to them."
"Exactly. It serves them right. Mrs. Wilkes, Henrietta's sister, was in a dreadful state about her attempting to act. But now, since Henrietta's success, she's talking about it to all the world."
When the boat came to shore, a plank was stretched from the prow to an adjacent rock for the accommodation of the ladies. Philip stood at the head of the plank, offering his hand for their assistance. Mrs. Carpenter came last, with Miss Congreve, who declined Osborne's aid but gave him a little bow, through her veil. Half an hour later Philip again found himself at the side of his hostess, and again spoke of Miss Congreve. Mrs. Carpenter warned him that she was standing close at hand, in a group of young girls.
"Have you heard," he asked, lowering his voice, "of her being engaged to be married—or of her having been?"
"No," said Mrs. Carpenter, "I've heard nothing. To whom?—stay. I've heard vaguely of something this summer at Sharon. She had a sort of flirtation with some man, whose name I forget."
"Was it Holland?"
"I think not. He left her for that very silly little Mrs. Dodd—who hasn't been a widow six months. I think the name was Graham."
Osborne broke into a peal of laughter so loud and harsh that his companion turned upon him in surprise. "Excuse me," said he. "It's false."
"You ask questions, Mr. Osborne," said Mrs. Carpenter, "but you seem to know more about Miss Congreve than I do."
"Very likely. You see I knew Robert Graham." Philip's words were uttered with such emphasis and resonance that two or three of the young girls in the adjoining group turned about and looked at him.
"She heard you," said Mrs. Carpenter.
"She didn't turn round," said Philip.
"That proves what I say. I meant to introduce you, and now I can't."
