“The people are all so friendly,” she said, “and strive so much to put the stranger at his ease, and putting themselves out lest time hang heavy on one’s hands.  They seem somehow responsible.”

“Yes,” said King, “the place is unique in that respect.  I suppose it is partly owing to the concentration of the company in and around the hotel.”

“But the sole object appears to me to be agreeable, and make a real social life.  At other like places nobody seems to care what becomes of anybody else.”

“Doubtless the cordiality and good feeling are spontaneous, though something is due to manner, and a habit of expressing the feeling that arises.  Still, I do not expect to find any watering-place a paradise.  This must be vastly different from any other if it is not full of cliques and gossip and envy underneath.  But we do not go to a summer resort to philosophize.  A market is a market, you know.”

“I don’t know anything about markets, and this cordiality may all be on the surface, but it makes life very agreeable, and I wish our Northerners would catch the Southern habit of showing sympathy where it exists.”

“Well, I’m free to say that I like the place, and all its easy-going ways, and I have to thank you for a new experience.”

“Me?  Why so?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have come if it had not been for your suggestion—­I mean for your—­your saying that you were coming here reminded me that it was a place I ought to see.”

“I’m glad to have served you as a guide-book.”

“And I hope you are not sorry that I—­”

At this moment Mrs. Benson and Mr. Meigs came down with the announcement of the dinner hour, and the latter marched off with the ladies with a “one-of-the-family” air.

The party did not meet again till evening in the great drawing-room.  The business at the White Sulphur is pleasure.  And this is about the order of proceedings:  A few conscientious people take an early glass at the spring, and later patronize the baths, and there is a crowd at the post-office; a late breakfast; lounging and gossip on the galleries and in the parlor; politics and old-fogy talk in the reading-room and in the piazza corners; flirtation on the lawn; a german every other morning at eleven; wine-parties under the trees; morning calls at the cottages; servants running hither and thither with cooling drinks; the bar-room not absolutely deserted and cheerless at any hour, day or night; dinner from two to four; occasionally a riding-party; some driving; though there were charming drives in every direction, few private carriages, and no display of turn-outs; strolls in Lovers’ Walk and in the pretty hill paths; supper at eight, and then the full-dress assembly in the drawing-room, and a “walk around” while the children have their hour in the ballroom; the nightly dance, witnessed by a crowd on the veranda, followed frequently by a private german and a supper given by some lover of his kind, lasting till all