The hotel and the fortress at this enchanting season, to say nothing of other attractions, with laughing eyes and slender figures, might well have detained Mr. Stanhope King, but he had determined upon a sort of roving summer among the resorts of fashion and pleasure.  After a long sojourn abroad, it seemed becoming that he should know something of the floating life of his own country.  His determination may have been strengthened by the confession of Mrs. Benson that her family were intending an extensive summer tour.  It gives a zest to pleasure to have even an indefinite object, and though the prospect of meeting Irene again was not definite, it was nevertheless alluring.  There was something about her, he could not tell what, different from the women he had met in France.  Indeed, he went so far as to make a general formula as to the impression the American women made on him at Fortress Monroe—­they all appeared to be innocent.

II

CAPE MAY, ATLANTIC CITY

“Of course you will not go to Cape May till the season opens.  You might as well go to a race-track the day there is no race.”  It was Mrs. Cortlandt who was speaking, and the remonstrance was addressed to Mr. Stanhope King, and a young gentleman, Mr. Graham Forbes, who had just been presented to her as an artist, in the railway station at Philadelphia, that comfortable home of the tired and bewildered traveler.  Mr. Forbes, with his fresh complexion, closely cropped hair, and London clothes, did not look at all like the traditional artist, although the sharp eyes of Mrs. Cortlandt detected a small sketch-book peeping out of his side pocket.

“On the contrary, that is why we go,” said Mr. King.  “I’ve a fancy that I should like to open a season once myself.”

“Besides,” added Mr. Forbes, “we want to see nature unadorned.  You know, Mrs. Cortlandt, how people sometimes spoil a place.”

“I’m not sure,” answered the lady, laughing, “that people have not spoiled you two and you need a rest.  Where else do you go?”

“Well, I thought,” replied Mr. King, “from what I heard, that Atlantic City might appear best with nobody there.”

“Oh, there’s always some one there.  You know, it is a winter resort now.  And, by the way—­But there’s my train, and the young ladies are beckoning to me.” (Mrs. Cortlandt was never seen anywhere without a party of young ladies.) “Yes, the Bensons passed through Washington the other day from the South, and spoke of going to Atlantic City to tone up a little before the season, and perhaps you know that Mrs. Benson took a great fancy to you, Mr. King.  Good-by, au revoir,” and the lady was gone with her bevy of girls, struggling in the stream that poured towards one of the wicket-gates.

“Atlantic City?  Why, Stanhope, you don’t think of going there also?”

“I didn’t think of it, but, hang it all, my dear fellow, duty is duty.  There are some places you must see in order to be well informed.  Atlantic City is an important place; a great many of its inhabitants spend their winters in Philadelphia.”