s on the river.
You are enjoying your outing, are you?"

Again the man looked curiously from Brian to Betty Jo. "Oh, yes; we
can stand it for awhile," he answered. "We're a pretty jolly bunch, you
see;--know how to keep things going. It would kill me if I had to live
here in this lonesome hole very long, though. Don't you find it rather
slow, Mrs. Burns?"

Poor Betty Jo's face turned fairly crimson. She could neither answer the
stranger nor meet his gaze, but stood with downcast eyes;--then looked
at Brian appealingly.

But Brian was as embarrassed as Betty Jo; while the stranger, as he
regarded them, smiled with an expression of insolent understanding.

"I guess I have made another mistake," he said, with a meaning laugh.

"You have," returned Brian, sharply, stepping forward as he spoke; for
the man's manner was unmistakable. "Be careful, sir, that you do not
make another."

Mr. Green spoke quickly, with an airy wave of his hand: "No offense;
no offense, I assure you." Then as he moved toward the door, he added,
still with thinly veiled insolence: "I beg your pardon for intruding. I
understand, perfectly. Good-afternoon, Mr. Burns! Good-afternoon, miss!"

Brian followed him out to the porch; and the caller, as he went down the
steps, turned back with another understanding laugh: "I say, Burns, you
are a lucky devil. Don't worry about me, old man. I envy you, by Jove!
Charming little nest. Come over to the club some evening. Bring the
little girl along, and help us to have a good time. So-long!"

Mr. Harry Green probably never knew how narrowly he escaped being
manhandled by the enraged but helpless Brian.

Brian remained on the porch until he saw the man, in his boat, leave the
eddy at the foot of the garden and row away up the river.

In the house, again, the two faced each other in dismay.

Betty Jo was first to recover: "I am sure that it is quite time for
Auntie Sue to come home and take charge of her own household again.
Don't you think so, Mr. Burns?"

And Brian Kent most heartily agreed.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE WOMAN AT THE WINDOW.

The members of the clubhouse party were amusing themselves that
afternoon in the various ways peculiar to their kind.

At one end of the wide veranda overlooking the river a group sat at a
card table. At the other end of the roomy lounging place, men and women,
lying at careless ease in steamer-chairs and hammocks, were smoking and
chatting about such things as