, a lame duck of an officer, and two middle-aged women, who made
spots of black and purple on the landscape. Like Oscar, George's ideas
of life had to do largely with motor cars and yachts, and estates on
Long Island, palaces at Newport and Lenox and Palm Beach. During the
war he had served rather comfortably in a becoming uniform in the
Quartermaster's Department in Washington. Now that the war was over,
he regretted the becomingness of the uniform. He felt to-day, however,
that there were compensations in his hunting pink. He was slightly
bronzed and had blue eyes. He was extremely popular with the women of
the Waterman set, but was held to be the especial property of Madge
MacVeigh.

Madge had observed his interest in the party on the hill.

"George," she said, "what are you looking at?"

"I am looking at those people who are picnicking. They probably have
ants in the salad and spiders in their coffee."

"They are getting more out of it than you and I," said Madge.

"How getting more?"

"We are tired of things, Georgie-Porgie."

"Speak for yourself, Madge."

"I am speaking for both of us. You are tired of me, for example."

"My dear girl, I am not."

"You are. And I am tired of you. It's not your fault, and it's not
mine. It is the fault of any house-party. People see too much of each
other. I am glad I am going away to-morrow, and you'll be glad. And
when we have been separated a month, you will rush up to see me, and
say you couldn't live without me."

She dissected him coolly. Madge had a modern way of looking at things.
She was not in the least sentimental. But she had big moments of
feeling. It was because of this deep current which swept her away now
and then from the shallows that she held Dalton's interest. He never
knew in what mood he should find her, and it added spice to their
friendship.

"I didn't know you were going to-morrow."

"Neither did I till this morning, but I am bored to death, Georgie."

She did not look it. She was long-limbed, slender, with heavy
burned-gold hair, a skin which was pale gold after a July by the sea.
The mauve of her dress and hat emphasized the gold of hair and skin.
Some one had said that Madge MacVeigh at the end of a summer gave the
effect of a statue cast in new bronze. Dalton in the early days of
their friendship had called her his "Golden Girl." The name had stuck
to her. She had laughed at it but had liked it. "I should hate it,