Cecile, young and bold enough to be direct, was not long in making discoveries.  With a rather blank expression of countenance L’Enfant Terrible, for once almost speechless, beckoned her sisters to one side.

“Pestiferous infant,” drawled Marian, “tell us who she is?”

“Is she a Broadway star?” asked Prue.

“Oh, she’s a star all right,” Cecile said, with disgust in her tone.  “We’ve been a trio of sillies, ignoring her.  Fordy’s fallen on both feet—­only he’s too dense to know it, I s’pose.”

“Tell us!” commanded Prue.  “Who is she?”

“She’s no screen actress,” answered the gloomy Cecile.

“Who is she, then?” gasped Marian.

“Sue Perriton says she is Mrs. Conroth’s niece, and Mrs. Conroth is all the Society with a capital letter there is.  Now, figure it out,” said Cecile tartly.  “If you smarties had taken her up right at the start——­”

“But we didn’t kno-o-ow!” wailed Marian.

“Go on!” commanded Prue grimly.

“Why, Miss Grayling’s father is a big scientist, or something, at Washington.  Her mother happened to be born here on the Cape; she was a Card.  This girl is just stopping over there with that old fellow who keeps the store—­her half-uncle—­for a lark.  What do you know about that?”

“My word!” murmured Marian.

“And Ford------”

“He’s mamma’s precious white-haired boy this time,” declared the slangy Cecile.

“Do—­do you suppose he knew it all the time?” questioned Marian.

“Never!  Just like old Doc Ambrose says, there isn’t much above Fordy’s ears but solid bone,” scoffed L’Enfant Terrible.

“Wait till ma hears of this,” murmured Prue, and they proceeded to beat a retreat for home that their mother might be informed of the wonder.  Lawford was already out of sight.

“How really fortunate Fordy is,” murmured Mrs. Tapp, having received the shocking news and been revived after it.  “Fancy!  Mrs. Conroth’s own niece!”

“It’s going to put us in just right with the best of the crowd at The Beaches,” Prue announced.  “We’ve only been tolerated so far.”

“Oh, Prudence!” admonished Mrs. Tapp.

“That’s the truth,” her second daughter repeated bluntly.  “We might as well admit it.  Now, if Fordy only puts this over with this Miss Grayling, they’ll have to take us up; for it’s plain to be seen they won’t drop Miss Grayling, no matter whom she marries.”

“If Fordy doesn’t miss the chance,” muttered Cecile.

“He can’t!”

“He mustn’t!”

“He wouldn’t be mean enough to drop her just to spite us!” wailed Marian.

“No,” said Prue.  “He won’t do that.  Ford isn’t a butterfly.  You must admit that he’s as steadfast as a rock in his likes and dislikes.  Once he gets a thing in that head of his------Well!  I’m sure he’s fond of Miss Grayling.”