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By Root 4630 0

indifferent to precedent and thrifty of purse, had built herself in her youth a many-peaked and cross-beamed cottage-orné on a bit of cheap land overlooking the bay. Here, in a thicket of stunted oaks, her verandahs spread themselves above the island-dotted waters. A winding drive led up between iron stags and blue glass balls embedded in mounds of geraniums to a front door of highly-varnished walnut under a striped verandah-roof; and behind it ran a narrow hall with a black and yellow star-patterned parquet floor, upon which opened four small square rooms with heavy flock-papers under ceilings on which an Italian house-painter had lavished all the divinities of Olympus. One of these rooms had been turned into a bedroom by Mrs. Mingott when the burden of flesh descended on her, and in the adjoining one she spent her days, enthroned in a large armchair between the open door and window, and perpetually waving a palm-leaf fan which the prodigious projection of her bosom kept so far from the rest of her person that the air it set in motion stirred only the fringe of the antimacassars on the chair-arms.

Since she had been the means of hastening his marriage old Catherine had shown to Archer the cordiality which a service rendered excites toward the person served. She was persuaded that ir repressible passion was the cause of his impatience; and being an ardent admirer of impulsiveness (when it did not lead to the spending of money) she always received him with a genial twinkle of complicity and a play of allusion to which May seemed fortunately impervious.

She examined and appraised with much interest the diamond-tipped arrow which had been pinned on May’s bosom at the conclusion of the match, remarking that in her day a filigree brooch would have been thought enough, but that there was no denying that Beaufort did things handsomely.

“Quite an heirloom, in fact, my dear,” the old lady chuckled. “You must leave it in fee to your eldest girl.” She pinched May’s white arm and watched the color flood her face. “Well, well, what have I said to make you shake out the red flag? Ain’t there going to be any daughters—only boys, eh? Good gracious, look at her blushing again all over her blushes! What—can’t I say that either? Mercy me—when my children beg me to have all those gods and goddesses painted out overhead I always say I’m too thankful to have somebody about me that notbing can shock!”

Archer burst into a laugh, and May echoed it, crimson to the eyes.

“Well, now tell me all about the party, please, my dears, for I shall never get a straight word about it out of that silly Medora,” the ancestress continued; and, as May exclaimed: “Aunt Medora? But I thought she was going back to Portsmouth?” she answered placidly: “So she is—but she’s got to come here first to pick up Ellen. Ah—you don’t know Ellen has come to spend the day with me? Such fol-de-rol, her not coming for the summer; but I gave up arguing with young people about fifty years ago. Ellen—Ellen!” she cried in her shrill old voice, trying to bend forward far enough to catch a glimpse of the lawn beyond the verandah.

There was no answer, and Mrs. Mingott rapped impatiently with her stick on the shiny floor. A mulatto maid-servant in a bright turban, replying to the summons, informed her mistress that she had seen “Miss Ellen” going down the path to the shore; and Mrs. Mingott turned to Archer.

“Run down and fetch her, like a good grandson; this pretty lady will describe the party to me,” she said; and Archer stood up as if in a dream.

He had heard the Countess Olenska’s name pronounced often enough during the year and a half since they had last met, and was even familiar with the main incidents of her life in the interval. He knew that she had spent the previous summer at Newport, where she appeared to have gone a great deal into society, but that in the autumn she had suddenly sub-let the “perfect house” which Beaufort had been at such pains to find for her, and decided to establish herself in Washington. There, during the winter, he heard of her (as one always heard