“I don’t understand that Miss Wildmere at all,” said the elder sister; “late last evening she went to yonder summer-house, hanging on Graydon’s arm as if they were engaged or married, and now he’s gone to be absent several days.  This morning she was there again with Arnault, and he wasn’t talking about the weather, either.  Now he’s gone also.  Before Graydon went she had another long interview with him while you were asleep.  Good gracious! what is she aiming at?  Young men were not so patient in my day or in our village; and quiet as Henry appears, he wouldn’t play second string to a bow as Graydon does.  When Miss Wildmere first came I thought it was about settled, and I tried to be polite to one whom I thought we should soon have to receive.  Now it’s a sort of neck-and-neck race between the two men.  If Graydon wins, how shall you treat Miss Wildmere?”

“Politely for Graydon’s sake, of course.”

“Whose chances are best?”

“Graydon’s.”

“Do you think she loves him?”

“Yes, as far as she can love any one.’

“Why, Madge, what do you mean?”

“She could not love as we should; she doesn’t know what the word means.  If she did she wouldn’t hesitate.”

“You think Henry’s opinion of her is correct, then?”

“I think he’s right usually.  Miss Wildmere is devoted to one being—­herself.”

“Why, Madge, it would be dreadful to have Graydon marry such a girl!”

“Graydon is not Harry Muir.  He attained his majority some years since.”

“He certainly is old enough to show more spirit.  Well, I don’t understand her tactics, but such belles, I suppose, are a law unto themselves.”

“Don’t let us gossip about her any more.  If Graydon becomes engaged there is only one thing for us to do.  Miss Wildmere has made herself disagreeable to me in many little nameless ways, and we never could be friends, but I shall not give Graydon cause for just complaint.  If he asks me to see her with his eyes, I shall laugh at him and decline.”

“They shall never live with us,” said Mrs. Muir, emphatically.  “I know I’m not a brilliant and accomplished woman, but I have always made home a place of rest and comfort for Henry, and I intend it always shall be just such a refuge.  He is nervous and uncomfortable whenever that girl comes near him.  Some people can’t get on together at all.  I am so glad that he likes you!  He says you are one that a man could depend upon in all sorts of weather.”

“We’ll see; but I like Santa Barbara weather, which is usually serene.”

“Oh, Madge, you’ll not go there again?”

“Yes, I shall probably make it my home.  I should never keep my health in the East, and I should dread a winter in New York more than I can tell you.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Muir, discontentedly, “I suppose you will have your own way in everything hereafter; but I think you might at least try to spend a winter with us.”