Here was a family of indigent gentility, servile waiters upon the accidents of Fortune, unable to work, but not ashamed to beg, as their friends and kindred to the fourth degree could have plaintively testified.  It was a mystery to common folks how they lived and got along.  They were most agreeable and accomplished people, who knew everybody and went everywhere.  The daughters had taste and beauty.  They visited by turns at great houses, never both leaving their parents at the same time; they wore pretty, even elegant clothing, and were always ready to assist at amateur concerts, private theatricals, church festivals, and other cheerful celebrations.  Miss Julia Gardiner’s voice was an acquisition at an evening party; her elder sister’s brilliant touch on the piano was worth an invitation to the most select entertainment.  And besides this, there are rich, kind people about in the world who are always glad to give poor girls, who are also nice, a little amusement.  And the Miss Gardiners were popular; they were very sweet-tempered, lady-like, useful, and charming.

Bessie Fairfax was an admirer of beauty in her own sex, and she could scarcely take her eyes from the winsome fair face of Julia.  It was a very fair face, very lovely.  After luncheon, at Mr. Cecil Burleigh’s request, she sang a new song that was lying on the piano; and they talked of old songs which he professed to like better, which she said she had forgotten.  Mr. Gardiner had not come up stairs, and Mrs. Gardiner, who had, soon disappeared.  It was a narrow little room made graceful with a few plants and ornaments and the working tools of ladies; novels from the library were on the table and on the couch.  A word spoken there could not be spoken in secret.  By and by, Helen, the elder sister, proposed to take Bessie to the arcade.  Mr. Cecil Burleigh demurred, but acceded when it was added that “mamma” would go with them.  Mamma went, a weary, willing sacrifice; and in the arcade and in somebody’s pretty verandah they spent the hot afternoon until six o’clock.  When they returned to the house, Mr. Cecil Burleigh and Julia were still together, and the new song on the desk of the piano had not been moved to make room for any other.  The gentleman appeared annoyed, the lady weary and dejected.  Bessie had no doubt that they were lovers who had roughnesses in the course of their true love, and she sentimentally wished them good-speed over all obstacles.

Mr. Cecil Burleigh rose as they entered, and said he would walk down the pier with Miss Fairfax to restore her to the yacht, and Mr. Gardiner bade Julia put on her hat and walk with them—­it would refresh her after staying all the hot afternoon in-doors.

The pier was deserted now.  The gay crowd had disappeared, the regatta was over for the day, and the band silent.  The glare of sunshine had softened to a delicate amber glow, and the water was smooth, translucent as a lake.  The three walked at a pace, but were overtaken and passed by two ladies in dark blue-braided serge dresses that cleared the ground as they walked and fitted close to very well made figures.  Their hats were black-glazed and low-crowned, with a narrow blue ribbon lettered “Ariel” in white and gold.