“You are always giving me good advice, Penelope, and I should be a different man if I had profited by it.”

“Don’t be satirical, because you’ve coaxed me to do you a favor.”

Late in the evening the gentlemen of the hotel party looked in at the skating-rink, a great American institution that has for a large class taken the place of the ball, the social circle, the evening meeting.  It seemed a little incongruous to find a great rink at Newport, but an epidemic is stronger than fashion, and even the most exclusive summer resort must have its rink.  Roller-skating is said to be fine exercise, but the benefit of it as exercise would cease to be apparent if there were a separate rink for each sex.  There is a certain exhilaration in the lights and music and the lively crowd, and always an attraction in the freedom of intercourse offered.  The rink has its world as the opera has, its romances and its heroes.  The frequenters of the rink know the young women and the young men who have a national reputation as adepts, and their exhibitions are advertised and talked about as are the appearances of celebrated ‘prime donne’ and ‘tenori’ at the opera.  The visitors had an opportunity to see one of these exhibitions.  After a weary watching of the monotonous and clattering round and round of the swinging couples or the stumbling single skaters, the floor was cleared, and the darling of the rink glided upon the scene.  He was a slender, handsome fellow, graceful and expert to the nicest perfection in his profession.  He seemed not so much to skate as to float about the floor, with no effort except volition.  His rhythmic movements were followed with pleasure, but it was his feats of dexterity, which were more wonderful than graceful, that brought down the house.  It was evident that he was a hero to the female part of the spectators, and no doubt his charming image continued to float round and round in the brain of many a girl when she put her, head on the pillow that night.  It is said that a good many matches which are not projected or registered in heaven are made at the rink.

At the breakfast-table it appeared that the sketching-party had been a great success—­for everybody except the artist, who had only some rough memoranda, like notes for a speech, to show.  The amateurs had made finished pictures.

Miss Benson had done some rocks, and had got their hardness very well.  Miss Lamont’s effort was more ambitious; her picture took in no less than miles of coast, as much sea as there was room for on the paper, a navy of sail-boats, and all the rocks and figures that were in the foreground, and it was done with a great deal of naivete and conscientiousness.  When it was passed round the table, the comments were very flattering.

“It looks just like it,” said Mr. Benson.

“It’s very comprehensive,” remarked Mr. Forbes.

“What I like, Marion,” said Mr. De Long, holding it out at arm’s-length, “is the perspective; it isn’t an easy thing to put ships up in the sky.”