p with Bertram Chester. He was putting in a word now and
then, it appeared. When he spoke, Eleanor turned polite attention upon
him; and then resumed her guarded attitude toward that dynamo buzzing
at her left. Insensible of the company on the lawn, they passed behind
the grape arbor which fringed the gate and which hid them temporarily
from view; and the one-sided conversation became audible.

"It wasn't a _patch_ on fights I've had with 'em. Down home, I used to
fight steers right along. That's nothing to a nigger who used to work
for us in Tulare. He'd jump on their backs and reach over and bite
their noses till they hollered quits. Sure thing he did!" It died out
as they turned in at the gate and faced the group about the trees.

Mrs. Goodyear made a gesture of an imaginary lorgnette toward her
high-bridged nose. Mrs. Tiffany gathered herself and ran over to the
gate. It was Mr. Heath--she noticed as she advanced--who was blushing.
Bertram Chester stood square on his two feet smiling genially. As for
Eleanor, she maintained that sweet inscrutability of face which
became, as years and trouble came on, her great and unappreciated
personal asset.

Young Chester spoke first:

"I knew Miss Gray was coming down this afternoon--so I laid for her on
the road--didn't I, Miss Gray?"

"Very nice of you, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Tiffany, though she bit
her lip before she spoke--"won't you come over to meet our friends?"
Eleanor had darted ahead, to the pats of the women and the adoring
hugs of Teresa Morse.

Mrs. Tiffany saw with relief that her disgraced protege managed his
end of the introduction very well, although he did make a slight
advance to shake hands with the critical Mrs. Goodyear. He gave no
sign to show that he perceived the men over on the piazza. Mr. Heath,
his Fidus Achates, cast a slight glance in their direction; then,
seeing Bertram settle himself down in an arm-chair and begin at once
to address Mrs. Goodyear, he sat down likewise, suffused with an air
of young embarrassment. Mrs. Ruggles, seated next to him, began with
visible tact the effort to put him at his ease.

Mr. Chester, as he talked to Mrs. Goodyear, looked always toward
Eleanor. She, helping Mrs. Tiffany with the tea things, turning a
caressing word now and then toward Teresa Morse, might not have
noticed, for all her expression showed.

The men came over for tea, were introduced. Mrs. Tiffany, in her
foolish anxiety for the manners an