and
laughter from these verandas, the tinkle of a banjo, the thrum of a
guitar. Automatic sprinklers whirled and hummed here and there. Their
delicious artificial coolness struck refreshingly against the cheek.

Thorpe found the Hughes residence without difficulty, and turned up the
straight walk to the veranda. On the steps of the latter a rug had been
spread. A dozen youths and maidens lounged in well-bred ease on its
soft surface. The gleam of white summer dresses, of variegated outing
clothes, the rustle o frocks, the tinkle of low, well-bred laughter
confused Thorpe, so that, as he approached the light from a tall lamp
just inside the hall, he hesitated, vainly trying to make out the
figures before him.

So it was that Helen Thorpe saw him first, and came fluttering to meet
him.

"Oh, Harry! What a surprise!" she cried, and flung her arms about his
neck to kiss him.

"How do you do, Helen," he replied sedately.

This was the meeting he had anticipated so long. The presence of others
brought out in him, irresistibly, the repression of public display which
was so strong an element of his character.

A little chilled, Helen turned to introduce him to her friends. In the
cold light of her commonplace reception she noticed what in a warmer
effusion of feelings she would never have seen,--that her brother's
clothes were out of date and worn; and that, though his carriage was
notably strong and graceful, the trifling constraint and dignity of
his younger days had become almost an awkwardness after two years among
uncultivated men. It occurred to Helen to be just a little ashamed of
him.

He took a place on the steps and sat without saying a word all the
evening. There was nothing for him to say. These young people talked
thoughtlessly, as young people do, of the affairs belonging to their own
little circle. Thorpe knew nothing of the cotillion, or the brake ride,
or of the girl who visited Alice Southerland; all of which gave occasion
for so much lively comment. Nor was the situation improved when some of
them, in a noble effort at politeness, turned the conversation into more
general channels. The topics of the day's light talk were absolutely
unknown to him. The plays, the new books, the latest popular songs,
jokes depending for their point on an intimate knowledge of the
prevailing vaudeville mode, were as unfamiliar to him as Miss Alice
Southerland's guest. He had thought pine and forest and the trail so
lo