e
thought she took pleasure in having him push her wheel-chair up and down
the piazza at least she rewarded him by grateful looks, and complimented
him by asking his advice about reading and about being useful to others.
Like most young girls whose career of gayety is arrested as hers was,
she felt an inclination to coquet a little with the serious side of
life. All this had been pleasant to Mr. King, but now that so many more
guests had come, he found himself most of the time out of business. The
girl's chariot was always surrounded by admirers and sympathizers. All
the young men were anxious to wheel her up and down by the hour; there
was always a strife for this sweet office; and at night, when the
vehicle had been lifted up the first flight, it was beautiful to see
the eagerness of sacrifice exhibited by these young fellows to wheel
her down the long corridor to her chamber. After all, it is a kindly,
unselfish world, full of tenderness for women, and especially for
invalid women who are pretty. There was all day long a competition of
dudes and elderly widowers and bachelors to wait on her. One thought she
needed a little more wheeling; another volunteered to bring her a glass
of water; there was always some one to pick up her fan, to recover her
handkerchief (why is it that the fans and handkerchiefs of ugly women
seldom go astray?), to fetch her shawl--was there anything they could
do? The charming little heiress accepted all the attentions with most
engaging sweetness. Say what you will, men have good hearts.

Yes, they were going to Newport. King and Forbes, who had not had a
Fourth of July for some time, wanted to see what it was like at Newport.
Mr. De Long would like their company. But before they went the artist
must make one more trial at a sketch-must get the local color. It was a
large party that went one morning to see it done under the famous ledge
of rocks on the Red Path. It is a fascinating spot, with its coolness,
sense of seclusion, mosses, wild flowers, and ferns. In a small grotto
under the frowning wall of the precipice is said to be a spring, but it
is difficult to find, and lovers need to go a great many times in search
of it. People not in love can sometimes find a damp place in the sand.
The question was where Miss Lamont should pose. Should she nestle under
the great ledge, or sit on a projecting rock with her figure against
the sky? The artist could not satisfy himself, and the girl, always