Madge felt herself neglected and partially forgotten.  She saw that Miss Wildmere’s spell grew stronger upon Graydon every day.  It was not in her nature to seek to attract his attention or in the slightest degree to enter the lists openly against her rival.  During the first three days of the week, her chief effort was to be so active and cheerful that her deep despondency should be hidden from all.  She was the life of every little group of which she formed a part.  Wherever she appeared, mirth and laughter soon followed.  The young girls in the house began to acknowledge her as a natural leader, the boyish young fellows to adore her, and the maturer men to discover that she could hold her own with them in conversation, while another class learned, to their chagrin, that she would not flirt.  For every walking expedition started she was ready with her alpenstock, and the experts in the bowling alley found a strong, supple competitor, with eye and hand equally true.  Graydon, as far as his preoccupation permitted, saw all this with renewed perplexity.  She now appeared to him as a beautiful, vigorous girl, with healthful instincts and a large appetite for enjoyment.

Wednesday morning was cool and cloudy, and a large party was forming to climb to Spy Rock.  Graydon was longing for more activity, and since the day was so propitious, Miss Wildmere consented to go.  Of course Madge was in readiness, and in charming costume for a walk.  The moment they were on the steep path he had to admit that she appeared the superior of Miss Wildmere.  The one owed her bloom to artificial and metropolitan life; the other had gone to nature, and now acted as if her foot were on her native heath.  Her step was light, yet never uncertain.  Her progress was easy, and, although different, was quite as graceful as if she were promenading the piazza, proving that she was an adept in mountain-climbing.  It was evident, however, that to Miss Wildmere a mountain was a terra incognita.  She trod uncertainly, her feet turned on loose stones that hurt her, and before the first steep ascent was passed, she panted and was glad to sit down with others, more or less exhausted.

Madge’s breathing was only slightly quickened, and color was beginning to come in her usually pale face, yet she had lent a helping hand more than once.

“How easily you climb, Miss Alden!” gasped Miss Wildmere.  “Have you taken lessons?”

“Yes,” she replied, smiling sweetly, “and from a master.”

Miss Wildmere also was beginning to discover a problem in Madge; she could not patronize, snub, or apparently touch her with shafts of satire.  The young girl treated her with cordial indifference, as one-of the guests of the house.  She appeared to be capable of enjoying herself thoroughly, with scarcely a consciousness of the belle’s existence, unless, as in the present case, she was addressed.  Then she would reply with perfect courtesy, but in some such ambiguous